Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 22, 2025
Her face had whitened a little. "It's quite simple. Later on there is a dance. Give me a dance with you!" Magda hesitated. In other circumstances she would have refused point-blank. Davilof had offended her and more than that, the revelation of the upsettingly vehement order of his passion for her that day in the Mirror Room had frightened her not a little.
The question sprang from her lips before she was aware. "How do I know?" Davilof laughed harshly. "Why, because the man who was loved by Magda Wielitzska wouldn't marry any other woman. There would be no other woman in the world for him. . . . There's no other woman in the world for me." His control was rapidly deserting him. "Magda, I can't live without you!
Antoine Davilof had lived so long in England that he spoke without trace of accent, though he sometimes gave an unEnglish twist to the phrasing of a sentence, but his quick emotion and the simplicity with which he made no effort to conceal it stamped him unmistakably as a foreigner. A little touched, Magda allowed her hand to remain in his. "Why, Davilof!" She chided him laughingly.
"I think" Davilof spoke with slow intensity "I think she's a soulless piece of devil's mechanism." And turning abruptly, he swung out of the box, slamming the door behind him. Quarrington frowned. With his keen perceptions it was not difficult for him to divine what lay at the back of Davilof's bitter criticism. The man was in love hopelessly in love with the Wielitzska.
About the triumphant reception she had had the other night down at the theatre he had been prevented from being present and about the unwarrantable attitude Davilof had adopted, which had been worrying her not a little. He would sympathise with her over that the effortless sympathy of the man in possession!
We've had it all out before. It's finished." "It's not finished." There was a clipped, curt force about the brief denial. The good-humoured, big-child mood in which Davilof had joyously narrated to her how he had circumvented the unfortunate Melrose had passed, leaving the man turbulent and passionately demanding as of old. "It's not finished," he repeated. "It never will be till you're my wife."
Davilof watched her as she came down the long room with the feather-light, floating walk of the trained dancer, and something leaped into his eyes that was very different from mere admiration something that, taken in conjunction with Lady Arabella's caustic comments of a few days ago, might have warned Magda had she seen it.
She smiled at him that slow, subtle smile of hers with its hint of mockery. "You won't be able to keep away," she replied. "I will never play for you again," he repeated. "Never! I will teach myself to hate you." She shook her head lightly. "Impossible, Davilof." "It's not impossible. There's very little difference between love and hate sometimes. And I want all or nothing."
You fix the lighting." She vanished into an adjoining room, while Davilof proceeded to switch off most of the burners, leaving only those which illumined the space in front of the great mirror. The remainder of the big room receded into a grey twilight encircling the patch of luminance.
At the sound of the opening door Coppertop wriggled out of her grasp like an eel, twisting his lithe young body round to see who the new arrival might be. His face fell woefully as he caught sight of Davilof. "Oh, you can't never have come already to play for the Fairy Lady!" he exclaimed in accents of dire disappointment.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking