She coloured with pleasure, and turning again to the piano played the “Prélude” of Rachmaninoff with a _verve_ and passion which surprised herself. She could not indeed explain why she, so lately conscious of little save the fact that she was a solitary spinster “in the way” of her would-be juvenile father, and with no one to care what became of her, now felt herself worthy of attention as a woman of talent and individuality, capable of asserting herself as such wherever she might be. The magnificent chords of the Russian composer’s despairing protest against all insignificance and meanness, rolled out from under her skilled finger-tips with all the pleading of a last appeal,--and everyone in the room, even Dimitrius himself, sat, as it were, spellbound and touched by a certain awe. An irresistible outburst of applause greeted her as she carried the brilliant finale to its close, and she rose, trembling a little with the nervous and very novel excitement of finding her musical gifts appreciated. Professor Chauvet got up slowly from his chair and came towards her. “After that, you may lead me where you like!” he said. “I am tame and humble! I shall never disagree with a woman who can so express the pulsations of a poet’s brain,--for that is what Rachmaninoff has put in his music. Yes, _chère Anglaise_!--I never flatter--and you play superbly. May I call you _chère Anglaise_?” “If it pleases you to do so!” she answered, smiling. “It does please me--it pleases me very much”--he went on--“it is a sobriquet of originality and distinction. An Englishwoman of real talent is precious--therefore rare. And being rare, it follows that she is dear--even to me! _Chère Anglaise_, you are charming!--and if both you and I were younger I should risk a proposal!” Everyone laughed,--no one more so than Diana. “You must have had considerable training to be such a proficient on the piano?” inquired Farnese, with his look of almost aggressive curiosity. “Indeed no!” she replied at once. “But I have had a good deal of time to myself one way and the other, and as I love music, I have always practised steadily.” “We must really have an ‘afternoon’ in Geneva,” said the Baroness Rousillon then. “You must be heard, my dear Miss May! The Genevese are very intelligent--they ought to know what an acquisition they have to their musical society----” “Oh, no!” interrupted Diana, anxiously--“Please! I could not play before many people----” “No,--like everything which emanates from Spirit, music of the finest quality is for the few,” said Dimitrius. “‘Where two or three are gathered together there am I in the midst of them’--is the utterance of all god-like Presences. Only two or three can ever understand.”