"Lord Clarenceux was secretly engaged to Rosa in Vienna," Sir Cyril
replied. "That was about two and a half years ago. He died shortly
afterwards. It was a terrible shock for her. Indeed, I have always
thought that the shock had something to do with her notorious quarrel
with us. She isn't naturally quarrelsome, so far as I can judge,
though really I have seen very little of her."

"By the way, what was the real history of that quarrel?" said
Sullivan. "I only know the beginning of it, and I expect Carl doesn't
know even that, do you, Carl?"

"No," I murmured modestly. "But perhaps it's a State secret."

"Not in the least," Sir Cyril said, turning to me. "I first heard Rosa
in Genoa--the opera-house there is more of a barn even than this, and
a worse stage than this used to be, if that's possible. She was
nineteen. Of course, I knew instantly that I had met with the chance
of my life. In my time I have discovered eleven stars, but this was a
sun. I engaged her at once, and she appeared here in the following
July. She sang twelve times, and--well, you know the sensation there
was. I had offered her twenty pounds a night in Genoa, and she seemed
mighty enchanted.

"After her season here I offered her two hundred pounds a night for
the following year; but Lord Clarenceux had met her then, and she
merely said she would think it over. She wouldn't sign a contract. I
was annoyed. My motto is, 'Never be annoyed,' but I was. Next to
herself, she owed everything to me. She went to Vienna to fulfil an
engagement, and Lord Clarenceux after her. I followed. I saw her, and