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Updated: May 22, 2025
Lady Arabella was in her element. She had two brilliant and unattached young men dining with her one, Michael Quarrington, a lion in the artistic world, and the other, Antoine Davilof, who showed unmistakable symptoms of developing sooner or later into a lion in the musical world. It was Davilof who was responsible for the artist's presence at Lady Arabella's dinner table.
A solo from Antoine Davilof, Lady Arabella's pet lion-cub of the moment; a song from the leading operatic tenor; and afterwards a single dance by the Wielitzska who could never be persuaded to perform at any other private houses than those of her godmother and the Duchess of Lichbrooke the former's half sister.
Miss Vallincourt was treating Davilof with an airy negligence that to June's honest and candid soul seemed altogether incompatible with such circumstances.
She had expressed in her usual autocratic manner a wish that he should be presented to her, and had determined upon the evening of the first performance of The Swan-Maiden as the appointed time. Davilof appeared doubtful, and declared that Quarrington was leaving England and had already fixed the date of his departure.
If I were the greatest musician in Europe, instead of being merely Antoine Davilof, it could only be a source of pride to be asked to accompany the Wielitzska." Lady Arabella paused on the pavement, her foot on the step of the limousine. "Then how is it that Mrs. Grey accompanies her now? She was playing for her at the Duchess of Lichbrooke's the other evening. "Magda didn't tell you, then?"
"Or very imprudent, Davilof. You need the tact of the whole Diplomatic Service to deal with Magda. And you ought to know it." "True, miladi. But I was not designed for diplomacy, and a man can only use the weapons heaven has given him." "I wouldn't have suggested heaven as invariably the source of your inspirations," retorted Lady Arabella. And hopped into the car.
If any single thing could have astonished Magda more than another, it was that Davilof should voluntarily, in the circumstances, renounce the dance she had promised him. It argued a fineness of perception and a generosity for which she would never have given him credit. She felt a little warm rush of gratitude towards him. "No, no!" she cried impulsively, "you shan't give up your dance."
So they let her go, with one final round of cheers and clapping, and then, as the curtains fell together once more and the orchestra slid unobtrusively into the entr'acte music, a buzz of conversation arose. Michael Quarrington turned and spoke to Davilof as they stood together. "This will be my last memory of England for some time to come. Mademoiselle Wielitzska is very wonderful.
"And who should be, mon petite chou, if not thou?" returned the old woman with conviction. "Of course they love thee! Mais bien sur! Doest thou not dance for them as none else can dance and give them angel visions that they could not imagine for themselves?" She paused. Then thrusting her hand suddenly into the pocket of her apron and producing a card: "Tiens! I forgot! Monsieur Davilof waits.
Moreover though she had no clue to the cause she was sensitively conscious that the former was not quite herself. She had seen that white, set look on her face before. Something had distressed her, and Gillian felt apprehensive lest Davilof had been the bearer of unwelcome tidings.
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