It was all conjecture; yet grave possibilities were involved. And whether the conjectures were right or wrong, Magda's duty stood forth clearly.
One more of life's opportunities lay before her. An opportunity for self-denial, for self-forgetfulness, on behalf of her friend. She had so wanted in the past to do something great, something grand, something worth doing. Here was her chance. Self-sacrifice is the grandest thing possible in the life of man or woman.
Nor was it of so severe a type as to be overwhelmingly difficult. She liked to be the prominent person, winning attention and admiration. She also liked Mr. Ivor, and her vanity was pleased. But that was all. Her heart was not affected. To draw back would mean no question of heavy loss, still less of heartbreak.
Miss Mordaunt had spoken of "rehearsals" given beforehand of greater opportunities to follow. What if this were one such "rehearsal"? What if the faithful carrying out of this might mean something greater to come after? So it often is in life.
The thing looked worth doing, apart from any question of rehearsals. Magda thought she would do it. For the sake of right, for the sake of honour, for the sake of her friend—she would hold herself in the background. She would no longer exert herself to be delightful. Mr. Ivor should find her dull and uninteresting. That would put things straight for Bee. She got into bed at last, seeing her own conduct in rosy hues, self put aside, love for Bee victorious, principle getting the upper hand over inclination.
But she forgot to look for Divine help in the carrying out of her good resolution. Some perfunctory prayers had been said earlier—only said with wandering attention. That was all. She had not asked to be made able to tread this path.
And when she awoke in the morning, things wore a different aspect. The road she had marked out for herself had lost its sunshine.
A quiet background is no inviting place for a lively girl, who has just discovered her power to please. And what if Mr. Ivor really were inclined to like her—more than others—more even than Bee? What if he really did wish to see more of her? This thought flashed up vividly. Was she to fling aside such a dazzling possibility, merely because she fancied that Bee was perhaps in love? Why, it would be quite absurd!
Besides—how could she be so rude as to neglect Mr. Ivor, when he came to their house? It would be her duty to make herself agreeable.
Not that Magda was usually bound by any obligations in this direction, when the guest happened to be not to her liking!