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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Davilof made me understand this morning." "Davilof?" The word seemed to drag itself from her throat. . . . Davilof who had been at Stockleigh that summer! Then it was all going to be true, after all. "Yes, Davilof. He had chanced on the fact that June was my sister.
It was just at this moment that Davilof appeared on the scene, pausing abruptly in the doorway as he caught sight of Magda's laughing face bent above the fiery red head. There was something very charming in her expression of eager, light-hearted abandonment to the fun of the moment.
Magda stared into the fire. "I dare say he might have a great deal of charm if he cared to exert it. Apparently, however, he didn't think I was worth the effort." Shouts of mirth came jubilantly from the Mirror Room as Davilof made his way thither one afternoon a few days later.
Throughout the rest of the day, after Davilof had gone, she had forced the matter into the background of her thoughts, and during supper she had kept up a light-hearted ripple of talk and laughter which had deceived even Gillian, convincing her that her apprehensions of the afternoon were unfounded. Perhaps she was helped by the fact that Dan failed to put in an appearance at the supper-table.
He released her, drawing slowly back, his arms falling unwillingly away from her. "Oh, yes," he muttered confusedly. "I did promise." The instant she felt his grip relax, Magda sprang forward and switched on the centre burners, flooding the room with a blaze of light, and in the sudden glare she and Davilof stood staring silently at each other.
"Well, here I am at last! Has Magda arrived home yet?" Davilof ceased playing abruptly and the speaker paused on the threshold of the room, peering into the dusk. Magda rose from her seat by the fire and switched on one of the electric burners. "Yes, here I am," she said. "Did you get held up by the fog, Gillian?" The newcomer advanced into the circle of light.
In that dim corner of the vast room her slim figure showed faintly limned against its blurred greens and greys like that of some pallid statue. "Go . . . go away!" she gasped. Davilof laughed triumphantly. Nothing could hold him now. The barriers of use and habit were down irrevocably. "Go away?" he said. "No, I'm not going away." He strode straight across the space that intervened between them.
She paused, then added cruelly: "I want you for playing my accompaniments, Davilof. That's all. Do you understand?" His eyes blazed. With a quick movement he stepped in front of her. "I'm a man as well as an accompanist," he said hoarsely. "One day you'll have to reckon with the man, Magda!" There was a new, unaccustomed quality in his voice. Hitherto she had not taken his ardour very seriously.
"Where have you hailed from? I heard the car but never suspected you were the arrival." "I'm on holiday," he replied. "And it struck me" his hazel eyes smiled straight into hers "that Devonshire might be a very delightful place in which to spend my holiday." Magda looked up suddenly from stirring her tea. "I think you've made a mistake, Davilof," she said curtly.
For a moment Davilof remained watching her, the sunshine, slanting between the leaves of the trees, throwing queer little flickering lights into the hazel eyes and glinting on his golden-brown hair and beard. "What are you doing here?" she repeated. "I came to see you," he said simply. There was something disarming in the very simplicity of his reply.
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