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Updated: August 16, 2024
"Looks as if she was a rich young lady. Her people must be anxious about her." Someone laughed a little, softly. "Oh, yes, she's a rich enough young lady, Mrs. Braithwaite. Don't you know who it is we've rescued?" "I, sir? No. How should I?" "Then I'll tell you. This is Mademoiselle Wielitzska, the famous dancer." "Never, sir! Well, I do declare " "Now, drink this at once, please."
Now it was out of date. The Wielitzska, whose clothes the newspapers had loved to chronicle, in a frock in which any one of the "young ladies" behind the counters of these self-same shops into which she was gazing would have declined to appear! She almost laughed out loud. And then, quick on the heels of her desire to laugh, came a revulsion of feeling.
In like manner had sprung to life the love between Hugh Vallincourt and Diane Wielitzska, and rarely has the web of love enmeshed two more dissimilar and ill-matched people Hugh, a man of seven-and-thirty, the strict and somewhat self-conscious head of a conspicuously devout old English family, and Diane, a beautiful dancer of mixed origin, the illegitimate offspring of a Russian grand-duke and of a French artist's model of the Latin Quarter.
A fresh difficulty had occurred to her; Davilof might chance to give away to the Storrans the secret of her identity. "Oh, by the way," she said hurriedly. "They don't know me here as Magda Wielitzska. I'm plain Miss Vallincourt to them enjoying the privileges of being a nobody! You'll be sure to remember, won't you?"
An hour or so later the last burst of applause had died away, and the well-dressed crowd which had sat in enthralled silence while the Wielitzska danced emerged chattering and laughing from the great ballroom. Their place was immediately taken by deft, felt-slippered men, who proceeded swiftly to clear away the seats and the drugget which had been laid to protect the surface of the dancing floor.
She also divined, beneath Lady Arabella's prickly exterior, a humanness and ability to understand which had been totally lacking in Sieur Hugh. She proceeded to put it to the test. "Will you let me dance?" she asked. "Tchah!" snorted the old woman. "So the Wielitzska blood is coming out after all!" She turned to Virginia. "Can she dance?" she demanded abruptly.
The sharp, authoritative tones startled her into sudden compliance. She opened her mouth and swallowed the contents of the glass with a gulp. Then she looked resentfully at the man whose curt command she had obeyed in such unexpected fashion. Magda Wielitzska was more used to giving orders than to taking them. "There, that's better," he observed, regarding the empty glass with satisfaction.
June Storran had no possibility of knowing that this dark, slender woman to whom she had let her rooms was the famous dancer, Magda Wielitzska, since the rooms had been engaged in the name of Miss Vallincourt, but she responded to Magda's unfailing charm as a flower to the sun. "It will be lovely for us, too," she replied.
Then suddenly he drew back, jerking himself upright. Striding across the room he pealed the bell and, when a neat maidservant appeared in response, ordered sharply: "Bring some brandy quick! And ask Mrs. Grey to come here. Mademoiselle Wielitzska has fainted." "This is very nice but it won't exactly contribute towards finishing the picture!"
As far as he was concerned she was no longer Magda Wielitzska, posing for him, but Circe, the enchantress, whose amazing beauty he was transferring to his canvas in glowing brushstrokes. As with all genius, the impulse of creative work had seized him suddenly and was driving him on regardless of everything exterior to his art.
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