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Updated: June 16, 2025
The recollection of the summer she had spent at Stockleigh rushed over her accusingly and she realised that actually she had come between Dan Storran and his wife very much as the Circe woman of Michael's story had come between some other husband and wife. A deep compassion for that unknown woman surged up within her. Surely her burden of remorse must be almost more than she could endure!
Very few people knew it, because, when she married, it was against our father's wishes, and she had cut herself adrift from the family. I wanted to help her, but she would never let me." He paused, then went on tonelessly: "It's all quite clear, isn't it? You know everything that happened while you were at Stockleigh. I've told you what happened afterwards.
She was even conscious of a certain compunction for her behaviour at Stockleigh. She had been bitterly hurt herself, and since, for the moment, to experiment with a new and, to her, quite unknown type of man had amused her and helped to distract her thoughts, she had not paused to consider the possible resultant consequences to the subject of the experiment.
So it came about that when a long, low, dust-powdered car curved in between the granite gateposts of Stockleigh Farm and came abruptly to a standstill, she remained entirely oblivious of its advent.
But she was gradually becoming apprehensive that disturbing consequences might accrue from Magda's stay at Stockleigh Farm. A woman of her elusive charm, equipped with all the subtle lore that her environment had taught her, must almost inevitably hold for a man of Storran's primitive way of life the fascination of something new and rather wonderful.
"Come away, Magda. Let's leave Stockleigh go home to London." "Certainly not." Magda stood up suddenly. "I'm quite well amused down here. I don't propose to leave till our time is up." She spoke with unmistakable decision, and Gillian, feeling that it would be useless to urge her further at the moment, went slowly out of the room and upstairs.
Storran of Stockleigh was as civilised, his clothes and general appearance as essentially "right," as those of the men around him. All suggestion of the "cave-man from the backwoods," as Lady Arabella had termed him, was gone. "I didn't know you were in England," said Gillian at last. "I landed yesterday." "You've been in South America, haven't you?" She spoke mechanically.
Then, almost violently, he thrust her away from him, unkissed, although the soft curved lips had for a moment lain so maddeningly near his own. "When can you and Mrs. Grey make it convenient to leave Stockleigh Farm?" he asked, his voice like iron. The crudeness of it whipped her pride that pride which Michael had torn down and trampled on into fresh, indignant life. "To leave?
"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.
Worked it out of my system in 'Frisco" with exceeding bitterness. "Then I got the news of June's death. Her sister wrote me. Told me she died because she'd no longer any wish to live. That sobered me-brought me back to my sense. There was a good deal more to the letter my sister-in-law didn't let me down lightly. I've had to pay for that summer at Stockleigh.
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