Magda’s eyes sought Gillian’s eagerly as she put the question.
“Did it go?” Mrs. Grey’s voice held all the unqualified enthusiasm any artiste could desire.
“Oh, Magda! It was wonderful! The most wonderful, beautiful dance I’ve ever seen.”
“And you know it as well as we do,” interpolated Lady Arabella tartly, but smiling pridefully in spite of herself.
“Still, of course, she likes to hear us say it.” Gillian championed her friend stoutly.
“The whole world will be saying it to-morrow,” observed Quarrington quietly.
Here Virginie created a diversion by handing round cups of freshly brewed tea.
“You’ll get nerves—drinking tea at this hour of the night,” commented Lady Arabella, accepting a cup with alacrity, nevertheless.
“I take it very weak,” protested Magda, smiling faintly. “It’s the only thing I like after dancing.”
But Lady Arabella was already deep in conversation with Gillian and Virginie—a conversation which resolved itself chiefly into a laudatory chorus regarding the evening’s performance. In the background Magda’s maid moved quietly to and fro, carefully putting away her mistress’s dancing dresses. For the moment Michael and Magda were to all intents and purposes alone.