"I'm thirty-five," returned Olga, "And that's old enough to know that nine-tenths of your 'nice human people' are self-seeking vampires living on the generosity of the other tenth. Besides, you have only to wait till you come out professionally and you can have as many so-called friends as you choose. You'll scarcely need to lift your little finger and they'll come flocking round you. I don't think"— looking at her speculatively—"that you've any conception what your voice is going to do for you. You see, it isn't just an ordinary good voice—it's one of the exceptional voices that are only vouchsafed once or twice in a century."
"Still, I think I should like to have a few friends—now. My friend,
I mean—not just the friends of my voice!"—with a smile.
"Well, don't include Miss de Gervais in the number—or Max Errington either."
She watched Diana's sudden flush, and shrugging her shoulders, added sardonically:—
"I suppose, however, it's useless to try and stop a marble rolling down hill. . . . Well, later on, remember that I warned you."
Diana stared into the fire for a moment in silence. Then she asked with apparent irrelevance:—
"Is Mr. Errington married?"
"He is not." Diana's heart suddenly sang within her.
"Nor," continued Miss Lermontof keenly, "is there any likelihood of his ever marrying."
The song broke off abruptly.