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He was just Davilof, her accompanist, who, like half the men of her acquaintance, was more or less in love with her and who had overstepped the boundary which she had very definitely marked out between herself and him. She regarded him stormily. "Have you gone mad?" she asked contemptuously. He returned her look, his eyes curiously brilliant. Then he laughed suddenly. "Mad?" he said.
Quarrington had every intention of politely excusing himself. Instead of which he found himself replying: "With pleasure if Mademoiselle Wielitzska won't think I'm intruding." Lady Arabella chuckled. "Well, she intruded on you that day in the fog, didn't she? So you'll be quits." She glanced impatiently round the box. "Where on earth has Davilof vanished to? Has he gone up in flame?"
"I do." "Oh, Gillian is all right," affirmed Magda, dismissing the matter airily. "She's a gorgeous accompanist, anyway almost as good as Davilof himself. Which reminds me I must go home and rehearse my solo dance in the Swan-Maiden. I told Davilof I'd be ready for him at four o'clock; and it's half-past three now. I shall never get back to Hampstead through this ghastly fog in half an hour."
After promising to dance for her she couldn't let her godmother down by crying off at the last moment, when all the world and his wife had come crowding to her house on the strength of that promise. So she bent her head in response to Davilof's contemptuous question. "Yes, I remember," she said quietly. "And you still ask me to play for you?" "I still ask you." Davilof laughed. "You amaze me!
As soon as Gillian had gone, Magda flung a loose wrap over her diaphanous draperies and turned to Virginie. "Where is Monsieur Davilof? Do you know?" "Mais oui, mademoiselle! I saw him through the doorway as I came from ordering the car. He is in the library." "Alone?" "Oui, mademoiselle!" Virginie nodded eloquently. "He smokes a cigarette to steady the nerves, I suppose."
He regarded her with unqualified reproach. "Won't you even ask me to tea?" he said plaintively. "Certainly not," Magda was beginning. But precisely as she spoke June Storran, looking more herself again after her short sleep, came towards them from the house. Her face brightened as she caught sight of Davilof.
Magda went swiftly out of the room. She reached the hall by way of an unfrequented passage and slipped into the library closing the door behind her. "Antoine!" At the sound of her voice Davilof, who had been standing by the fire, wheeled round. "You!" he exclaimed violently. "You!" And then remained silent, staring at her. "You knew I was dancing here to-night," she said chidingly.
As much actress as dancer and both rather superlatively." There was an odd note in Quarrington's voice, as if he were forcibly repressing some less measured form of words. Davilof glanced at him sharply. "You think so?" he said curtly. The musician's hazel eyes were burning feverishly.
But if you know her rather well as I do and can add two and two together and make five or any unlikely number of them, why, then you can fill in some of the blanks for yourself." She glanced at him with impish amusement as she moved towards the door. "Come along, Davilof," she said. "I suppose you want to hear your own music even if Magda's dancing no longer interests you?"
He uttered a stifled exclamation as his eyes fell on the angry-looking marks. "Mon dieu! I've hurt you " "No!" Magda faced him with a defiance that was rather splendid. "No! You can't hurt me, Davilof. Only the man I love can do that." He flinched at the proud significance of the words denying him even the power to hurt her.
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