Miss Bunting shook her head at him and tried to frown but as no one ever minded in the least what Jerry said, her effort at propriety was a failure, and she retreated to set about the tea, observing maliciously:--

"I'll send 'Mrs. Lawrence darling' up to talk to you, Mr. Leigh."

"Great Jehosaphat!"--Jerry flew after her to the door--"If you do, I'm off. That woman upsets my digestion--she's so beastly effusive. I thought she was going to kiss me last time."

Miss Bunting laughed as she disappeared downstairs.

"You're safe to-day," she threw back at him. "She's out."

Jerry returned to his smouldering fire and proceeded to encourage it with the bellows till, by the time the tea came up, the flames were leaping and crackling cheerfully in the little grate.

"And now," said Diana, as they settled themselves for a comfortable yarn over the teacups, "tell me all the news. Oh by the way, what's your important message? I don't believe"--regarding him severely--"that you've got one at all. It was just an excuse."

"It wasn't, honour bright. It's from Miss de Gervais--she sent me round to see you expressly. You know, while Errington's away I call at her place for orders like the butcher's boy every morning. The boss asked me to look after her and make myself useful during his absence."

"Well," said Diana impatiently. "What's the message?" It did not interest her in the least to hear about the arrangements Max had made for Adrienne's convenience.

"Miss de Gervais is having a reception--'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,'

you know--"

"Of course I know," broke in Diana irritably, "seeing that I'm asked to it."

Jerry continued patiently.

"And she wants you as a special favour to sing for her. As a matter of fact there are to be one or two bigwigs there whom she thinks it might be useful for you to meet--influence, you know," he added, waving his hand expansively, "push, shove, hacking, wire-pulling--"

"Oh, be quiet, Jerry," interrupted Diana, laughing in spite of herself.

"It's no good, you know. It's dear of Adrienne to think of it, but Baroni won't let me do it. He hasn't allowed me to sing anywhere this last year."

"Doesn't want to take the cream off the milk, I suppose," said Jerry, with a grin. "But, as a matter of fact, he _has_ given permission this time. Miss de Gervais went to see him about it herself, and he's consented. I've got a letter for you from the old chap"--producing it as he spoke.

"Adrienne is a marvel," said Diana, as she slit the flap of the envelope. "I'm sure Baroni would have refused any one else, but she seems to be able to twist him round her little finger."

"Dear Mis Quentin"--Baroni had written in his funny, cramped handwriting--"You may sing for Miss de Gervais. I have seen the list of guests and it can do no harm--possibly a little good. Yours very sincerely, CARLO BARONI."

"Miss de Gervais must have a 'way' with her," said Jerry meditatively.

"I observe that even my boss always does her bidding like a lamb."

Diana poured herself out a second cup of tea before she asked negligently:--

"When's your 'boss' returning? It seems to me he's allowing you to live the life of the idle rich. Will he be back for Adrienne's reception?"

"No. About a week afterwards, I expect."

"Where's he been?"

"Oh, all over the shop--I've had letters from him from half the capitals in Europe. But he's been in Russia longest of all, I think."

"Russia?"--musingly. "I suppose he isn't a Russian by any chance?"

"I've never asked him," returned Jerry shortly.

"He is certainly not pure English. Look at his high cheek-bones. And his temperament isn't English, either," she added, with a secret smile.

Jerry remained silent.

"Don't you think it's rather funny that we none of us know anything about him?--I mean beyond the mere fact that his name is Errington and that he's a well-known playwright."

"Why do you want to know more?" growled Jerry.

"Well, I think there is something behind, something odd about him.

Olga Lermontof is always hinting that there is."

"Look here, Diana," said Jerry, getting rather red. "Don't let's talk about Errington. You know we always get shirty with each other when we do. I'm not going to pry into his private concerns--and as for Miss Lermontof, she's the type of woman who simply revels in making mischief."

"But it _is_ funny Mr. Errington should be so--so reserved about himself," persisted Diana. "Hasn't he ever told you anything?"

"No, he has not," replied Jerry curtly. "Nor should I ever ask him to.

I'm quite content to take him as I find him."

"All the same, I believe Miss Lermontof knows something about him--something not quite to his credit."

"I swear she doesn't," burst out Jerry violently. "Just because he doesn't choose to blab out all his private affairs to the world at large, that black-browed female Tartar must needs imagine he has something to conceal. It's d.a.m.nable! I'd stake my life Errington's as straight as a die--and always has been."

"You're a good friend, Jerry," said Diana, rather wistfully.

"Yes, I am," he returned stoutly. "And so are you, as a rule. I can't think why you're so beastly unfair to Errington."

"You forget," she said swiftly, "he's not my friend. And perhaps--he hasn't always been quite fair to me."

"Oh, well, let's drop the subject now"--Jerry wriggled his broad shoulders uncomfortably. "Tell me, how are the Rector and--and Miss Stair?"

The previous summer Jerry had spent a week at Red Gables, and had made Joan's acquaintance. Apparently the two had found each other's society somewhat absorbing, for Adrienne had laughingly declared that she didn't quite know whether Jerry were really staying at Red Gables or at the Rectory.

"Pobs and Joan sent all sorts of nice messages for you," said Diana, smiling a little. "They're both coming up to town for my recital, you know."

"Are they?"--eagerly. "Hurrah! . . . We must go on the bust when it's over. The concert will be in the afternoon, won't it?" Diana nodded.

"Then we must have a commemoration dinner in the evening. Oh, why am I not a millionaire? Then I'd stand you all dinner at the 'Carlton.'"

He was silent a moment, then went on quickly:

"I shall have to make money somehow. A man can't marry on my screw as a secretary, you know."

Diana hastily concealed a smile.

"I didn't know you were contemplating matrimony," she observed.

"I'm not"--reddening a little. "But--well, one day I expect I shall.

It's quite the usual sort of thing--done by all the best people. But it can't be managed on two hundred a year! And that's the net amount of my princely income."