You had better have nothing to do with Adrienne de Gervais." Diana stared at her in undisguised amazement, the quick colour rushing into her face as it always did when she was startled or surprised.
"But--but why ?" she stammered.
"I can't tell you why.

Only take my advice and leave her alone." "But I thought her delightful," protested Diana.

"And"-- wistfully--"I haven't many friends in London." "Miss de Gervais isn't quite all she seems.

And your art should be your friend--you don't need any other." Diana laughed.
"You talk like old Baroni himself! But indeed I do want friends--I haven't nearly reached the stage when art can take the place of nice human people." Miss Lermontof regarded her dispassionately.
"That's only because you're young--horribly young and warm-hearted." "You talk as if you yourself were a near relation of Methuselah!"-- laughing.
"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.