Max greeted him affectionately.
"It's a long while since you honoured me with a visit," he said, shaking hands. "I suppose"—laughingly—"you come to congratulate me?"
The old man shook his head.
"Far from it. I haf come to ask you to give her up."
"To give her up?" repeated Max, in undisguised amazement.
"Yes. Mees Quentin is not for marriage. She is dedicated to Art."
Max smiled indulgently.
"To Art? Yes. But she's for me, too, thank God! Dear old friend, you need not look so anxious and concerned. I've no wish to interfere with Diana's professional work. You shall have her voice"—smiling—"I'll be content to hold her heart."
But there was no answering smile on Baroni's lips.
"Does she know—everything?" he asked sternly.