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Updated: June 19, 2025
It was towards the end of the evening that Michael Quarrington finally joined the group.
"I thought perhaps you'd like some other congratulations besides family ones." "Am I permitted?" asked Quarrington, taking the hand Magda held out to him. "Or are you too tired to be bothered with an outsider?" Magda looked up at him. "I've very glad to see you," she said quietly.
The yacht had drifted gradually out of mid-channel shorewards, and after one or two unsuccessful efforts Quarrington at last succeeded in casting anchor. Then he turned to Magda, who had been assisting in the operation, with a smile. "That's about all we can do," he said. "We're perfectly helpless till some tug or steamer comes along." "Probably they'll run us down," she suggested.
Lady Arabella's snapping speech broke the silence. "It's rather more than that, isn't it?" said Magda. "How did you seduce Michael Quarrington? I thought" for an instant her voice wavered, then steadied again "I thought he was abroad." "He was. At the present moment he's at the Hermitage." "Here?"
Then, as the lights gleamed on fair, crisply waving hair she realised that the man was Michael Michael, whom she believed to be on his way to Spain! Perhaps it was merely chance, or perhaps it was at the direct inspiration of Lady Arabella, but, whatever may have been the cause, Gillian had not confided to Magda that Quarrington was to be at her godmother's reception.
Come along and tell me all about your Devonshire trip. I suppose," she went on, "you heard the news of Michael Quarrington's marriage? Or didn't you get any newspapers down in your benighted village?" "No, we had no London papers," replied Gillian doubtfully. "But I don't understand. Mr. Quarrington isn't married, is he? I thought I thought " "You thought he was in love with Magda. So he was.
His eyes flickered inquiringly over her face, but it was evident that hers had been merely a chance remark. The old lady had obviously no idea as to who it was who had posed for the Titania of the picture. That was one of the "slices of fact" which Magda had omitted to hand out when recounting her adventure in the fog to her godmother. Quarrington leaned back in his chair satisfied.
"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.
But the wedding won't be quite as soon as to-morrow," she told him. "Why not?" insinuated Quarrington calmly. "There are such things as special licences, you know." "Don't be silly," replied Magda scathingly. "I've only just been saved from drowning, and I don't propose to take on such a risk as matrimony till I've had time to recover my nerve."
She had never seen Magda quite like this before; her sombre eyes held a curious strained look like those of some wild thing of the forest caught in a trap and in pain. "And you don't know who he was I mean the man who came to your help and then lectured you?" "Yes, I do. It was Michael Quarrington, the artist." "Michael Quarrington? Why, he has the reputation of being a most charming man!"
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