"Good.

Let me see them." He glanced swiftly through the roll of music which she tendered.
"This one--we will try this.

Now"-- seating himself at the piano--"open your mouth, little nightingale, and sing." Softly he played the opening bars of the prelude to the song, and Diana watched fascinatedly while he made the notes speak, and sing, and melt into each other with his short stumpy fingers that looked as though they and music would have little enough in common.
"Now then.

Bee-gin." And Diana began.

But she was so nervous that she felt as though her throat had suddenly closed up, and only a faint, quavering note issued from her lips, breaking off abruptly in a hoarse croak.
Baroni stopped playing.
"Tchut! she is frightened," he said, and laid an encouraging hand on her shoulder.