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She was motoring to Netherway, a delightfully small and insignificant place on the Hampshire coast where Lady Arabella had what it pleased her to term her "cottage in the country," a charming old place, Elizabethan in character the type of "cottage" which boasted a score or so of rooms and every convenience which an imaginative estate agent, sustained by the knowledge that his client regarded money as a means and not an end, could devise.
Also, she wanted a quiet holiday and she proposed to take one. And now Magda was on her way to join her, Gillian remaining behind in order to close up the house at Hampstead and settle the servants on board wages. It had been arranged that she and Coppertop should come on to Netherway immediately this was accomplished.
Quarrington briefly explained their predicament in the face of the Bella Donna's battered appearance a lengthy explanation was hardly necessary and a few minutes later the tug was steaming for Netherway harbour, towing the crippled yacht behind her. "Please, Marraine, will you give us your blessing?"
It had been what Magda called a "blue day" the sky overhead a deep unbroken azure, the dimpling, dancing waters of the Solent flinging back a blue almost as vivid and she and Quarrington had put out from Netherway harbour in the morning and crossed to Cowes.
I suppose they'll have to come some day" with a small grimace of disgust. "You'll be snowed under with them," Gillian assured her encouragingly. The public announcement of the engagement preceded Magda's return from Netherway by a few days, so that by the time the Hermitage house-party actually broke up, its various members returning to town, all London was fairly humming with the news.
She must know what Stockleigh signified to him. "What do you mean? Tell me what you mean!" she asked desperately. "Do you remember the story I told you down at Netherway of a man and his wife and another woman?" "Yes, I remember" almost whispering. "That was the story of my sister, June, and her husband, Dan Storran. You were the other woman."
Lady Arabella chuckled sardonically. "If you weren't, you'd have to be after last night!" she commented drily. "No one need know about last night," retorted Magda. "Huh!" Lady Arabella snorted. "Half Netherway will know the tale by midday. And you may be sure your best enemy will hear of it. They always do." "Never mind. It will make an excellent advertisement," observed Magda philosophically.
And, thanks to an enterprising young journalist who chanced to be prowling about Netherway on that particular day, the London newspapers flared out into large headlines, accompanied by vivid and picturesque details of the narrow escape while yachting of the famous dancer and of the well-known artist, Michael Quarrington who, in some of the cheaper papers, was credited with having saved the Wielitzska's life by swimming ashore with her.
"Now, Mister Archie, give us one of them spears. Got it! Now then talk about a mahout! Geet! geet! Netherway!" he cried, using the words familiar to him from the days when he used to watch the carters and their teams. "What are you up to now? Look at that, now, Mister Archie!"
Will mademoiselle receive him?" Magda nodded. She had not seen Antoine since her return from Netherway. He had been away in Poland, visiting his mother whom, by the way, he adored. But as her engagement to Michael was now public she was anxious to get her first meeting with the musician over.
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