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True, she no longer wore that set, still look which Gillian had observed on her face prior to Dan Storran's appearance upon the scene. But even when she smiled and talked, playing the men off one against the other with a deft skill that was inimitable, there seemed a curious new hardness underlying it all a certain reckless deviltry for which Gillian was at a loss to account.
She had just established herself on a big, sun-warmed boulder when a familiar step sounded on the bridge and Dan Storran's tall figure emerged into view. He pulled up sharply as he caught sight of her, his face taking on a schoolboy look of embarrassment.
Gillian's mouth set itself in a straight line of determination as her eyes raced along the score or so of pregnant words. She was silent a moment. Then she met Storran's questioning glance. "We can just do it," she said sternly. "To-day is Wednesday. By crossing to Southampton to-night, we can make London to-morrow."
I happened to be rather worried when I came away from London, and there's something very soothing and comforting about the country particularly your lovely Devon country." "Worried?" Storran's face darkened. "Who'd been worrying you?" "Oh" vaguely. "All sorts of things. Men and women. But don't let's talk about worries to-day.
Gillian experienced no anxiety with regard to Coppertop's safety while he was in Ned Honeycott's charge, but she missed the childish companionship, the more so as she found herself frequently alone these days. June Storran was naturally occupied about her house and dairy, while Magda, under Dan Storran's tutelage, appeared smitten with an extraordinary interest in farm management.
It was a relief when at last he got up and moved off, excusing himself on the plea that he had some work he must attend to. As he shook hands with Davilof the eyes of the two men met, hard as steel and as hostile. Storran's departure was the signal for the breaking-up of the party.
Quite suddenly she ceased to struggle and lay still in his grasp. After all, she didn't know that she would much mind dying. Life was not so sweet. There would be pain, she supposed . . . a moment's agony. . . . All at once, Storran's hands fell away from her passive, silent body and he stepped back. "I can't do it!" he muttered hoarsely. "I can't do it!"
Storran's wife one can see her heart breaks, and it is you who are breaking it. Yet nothing touches you! You've no conscience like other women no heart " Magda pulled herself out of his grasp. "Oh, do forget that I'm a woman, Davilof! I'm a dancer. Nothing else matters. I don't want to be troubled with a heart. And and I think they left out my soul." "Yes," he agreed with intense bitterness.
Why should we leave?" Storran's face was white under his tan. "Because," he said hoarsely, "because you're coming between me and my wife. That's why." The chintzy bedroom under the sloping roof was very still and quiet.
It was Michael's bitter disappointment in Magda, I think, quite as much as the fact that, indirectly, he held her responsible for June's death." "It's ridiculous to try and foist Mrs. Storran's death on to Magda," fumed Lady Arabella restively. "If she hadn't the physical health to have a good, hearty baby successfully, she shouldn't have attempted it.
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