The talk momentarily ceased, and in order to demonstrate that I was not tongue-tied in the company of these celebrities, I ventured to inquire what Lord Clarenceux, whose riches and eccentricities had reached even the Scottish newspapers, had to do with the matter.

“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 I laid myself out to arrange terms of peace.

“I have had difficulties with prime donne before, scores of times.  Yes; I have had experience.”  He laughed sardonically.  “I thought I knew what to do.  Generally a prima donna has either a pet dog or a pet parrot—­sopranos go in for dogs, contraltos seem to prefer parrots.  I have made a study of these agreeable animals, and I have found that through them their mistresses can be approached when all other avenues are closed.  I can talk doggily to poodles in five languages, and in the art of administering sugar to the bird I am, I venture to think, unrivalled.  But Rosa had no pets.  And after a week’s negotiation, I was compelled to own myself beaten.  It was a disadvantage to me that she wouldn’t lose her temper.  She was too polite; she really was grateful for what I had done for her.  She gave me no chance to work on her feelings.  But beyond all this there was something strange about Rosa, something I have never been able to fathom.  She isn’t a child like most of ’em.  She’s as strong-headed as I am myself, every bit!”