A CONTEST OF WILLS Diana was sitting in Baroni's music-room, waiting, with more or less patience, for a singing lesson.

The old _maestro_ was in an unmistakable ill-humour this morning, and he had detained the pupil whose lesson preceded her own far beyond the allotted time, storming at the unfortunate young man until Diana marvelled that the latter had sufficient nerve to continue singing at all.
In a whirl of fury Baroni informed him that he was exactly suited to be a third-rate music-hall artiste--the young man, be it said, was making a special study of oratorio--and that it was profanation, for any one with so incalculably little idea of the very first principles of art to attempt to interpret the works of the great masters, together with much more of a like explosive character.

Finally, he dismissed him abruptly and turned to Diana.
"Ah--Mees Quentin." He softened a little.

He had a great affection for this promising pupil of his, and welcomed her with a smile.

"I am seek of that young man with his voice of an archangel and his brains of a feesh!.