She was drinking her tea appreciatively, and a little colour had crept into her cheeks, although the shadows still lay heavily beneath her light-green eyes. They were of a curious translucent green, the more noticeable against the contrasting darkness of her hair and brows; they reminded one of the colour of Chinese jade. "I've just been to tea with Miss de Gervais," volunteered Diana, after a pause. A swift look of surprise crossed Olga Lermontof's face. "I didn't know you had met her," she said slowly. "Yes, we met at Signor Baroni's the other day. She came in during my lesson. I believe I told you she had taken a house at Crailing, so that at home we are neighbours, you see." "Miss Lermontof consumed a biscuit in silence. Then she said abruptly:-- "Miss Quentin, I know you don't like me, but--well, I have an odd sort of wish to do you a good turn. 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. You'll scarcely need to lift your little finger and they'll come flocking round you. I don't think"-- looking at her speculatively--"that you've any conception what your voice is going to do for you. You see, it isn't just an ordinary good voice--it's one of the exceptional voices that are only vouchsafed once or twice in a century." "Still, I think I should like to have a few friends--now. _My_ friend, I mean--not just the friends of my voice!"--with a smile. "Well, don't include Miss de Gervais in the number--or Max Errington either." She watched Diana's sudden flush, and shrugging her shoulders, added sardonically:-- "I suppose, however, it's useless to try and stop a marble rolling down hill. . . . Well, later on, remember that I warned you." Diana stared into the fire for a moment in silence. Then she asked with apparent irrelevance:-- "Is Mr. Errington married?"