And through it all she was acutely conscious of Max Errington's proximity--knew instinctively that the passion of the song was shaking him equally with herself.

It was as though some intangible live wire were stretched between them so that each could sense the emotion of the other--as though the garment with which we so persistently conceal our souls from one another's eyes were suddenly stripped away.
There was a tense look in Max's face as the last note trembled into silence, and Diana, meeting his glance, flushed rosily.
"I can't sing any more," she said, her voice uneven.
"No." He added nothing to the laconic negative, but his eyes held hers remorselessly.
Then Pobs' cheerful tones fell on their ears and the taut moment passed.
"Di, you amazing child!" he exclaimed delightfully.

"Where did you find a voice like that?
I realise now that we've been entertaining genius unawares all this time.

Joan, my dear, henceforth two commonplace bodies like you and me must resign ourselves to taking a back seat." "I don't mind," returned Joan philosophically.

"I think I was born with a humdrum nature; a quiet life was always my idea of bliss." "Sing something else, Di," begged Stair.