As a rule, the men who were brought into contact with her quite obviously acknowledged her distinctly charming personality, but this one had marched away with uncompromising haste and as unconcernedly as though she had been merely the greengrocer's boy, and he had been assisting him in the recovery of some errant Brussels sprouts.
For a moment an amused smile hovered about her lips; then the recollection of her business in Grellingham Place came back to her with a suddenly sobering effect and she hastened on her way up the street, pausing at last at No.57.

She mounted the steps reluctantly, and with a nervous, spasmodic intake of the breath pressed the bell-button.
No one came to answer the door--for the good and sufficient reason that Diana's timid pressure had failed to elicit even the faintest sound--and its four blank brown panels seemed to stare at her forbiddingly.

She stared back at them, her heart sinking ever lower and lower the while, for behind those repellent portals dwelt the great man whose "Yea" or "Nay" meant so much to her--Carlo Baroni, the famous teacher of singing, whose verdict upon any voice was one from which there could be no appeal.
Diana wondered how many other aspirants to fame had lingered like herself upon that doorstep, their hearts beating high with hope, only to descend the white-washed steps a brief hour later with the knowledge that from the standpoint of the musical profession their voices were useless for all practical purposes, and with their pockets lighter by two guineas, the _maestro's_ fee for an opinion.
The wind swept up the street again and Diana shivered, her teeth chattering partly with cold but even more with nervousness.

This was a bad preparation for the coming interview, and with an irritation born of despair she pressed the bell-button to such good purpose that she could hear footsteps approaching, almost before the trill of the bell had vibrated into silence.
An irreproachable man-servant, with the face of a sphinx, opened the door.
Diana tried to speak, failed, then, moistening her lips, jerked out the words:-- "Signor Baroni ?" "Have you an appointment ?" came the relentless inquiry, and Diana could well imagine how inexorably the greatly daring who had come on chance would be turned away.
"Yes--oh, yes," she stammered.

"For three o'clock--Miss Diana Quentin." "Come this way, please." The man stood aside for her to enter, and a minute later she found herself following him through a narrow hall to the door of a room whence issued the sound of a softly-played pianoforte accompaniment.
The sphinx-like one threw open the door and announced her name, and with quaking knees she entered.
The room was a large one.