40 THE COMPOSER
"Fat French woman!" commented Johnny thoughtfully.
"She is large, certainly," said the other smiling. "But not French—Austrian, I fancy. Anyhow, she is the great operatic trainer, and I understand Miss Vaneck has been led to look upon herself now as a rising operatic star."
"Oh, I say!" said Johnny, in a non-committal way. He was sharp enough to notice the underlying streak of bitterness in Lady Warborough's well-bred tones. But her information was scarcely news to him; he had gathered as much in Mrs. Morton's Bose-du-Barry anteroom on the fateful night.
"My sister and I," said Lady Warborough, "had made ourselves responsible for the child's training. My sister, Selina Dorien, you know, first came across her, through Mosenthal, Augusta's violin master. Sarolta was some kind of relation of his, a distant one—in fact, I believe Mosenthal's mother and hers were cousins, both Poles—I don't know what her father was. But she was left destitute, and they took her in, and brought her up with their own brood. Extraordinarily charitable these artists are! Mrs. Mosenthal had a dozen of her own already."
"Mrs. Mosenthal," echoed Johnny, profoundly attentive. "That's the Jew aunt!"
"I suppose they are Jews," said Lady Warborough indifferently. "Not Sarolta, though. Poor Professor Mosenthal was very proud of that strain of Polish blood, I believe. Well, my sister used to have her to sing with Augusta. And when Mosenthal died, we
