She was conscious of a fresh impulse of anger against Lady Raynham. She wanted to forget the past—blot it all out of her memory—and out of the memory of the man whose contempt had hurt her more than anything in her whole life before. And now it seemed as though everything were combining to emphasise those very things which had earned his scorn.
But, apart from a certain apprehension as to how the whole affair might appear in Michael’s eyes, she was characteristically unimpressed by her interview with Lady Raynham.
“I don’t see,” she told Gillian indignantly, “that I’m to blame because the boy lost his head. His mother was—stupid.”
Gillian regarded her consideringly. To her, the whole pitiful tragedy was so clear. She could envisage the point of view of Kit’s mother only too well, and sympathise with it. Yet, understanding Magda better than most people did, she realised that the dancer was hardly as culpable as Lady Raynham thought her.
Homage and admiration were as natural to Magda as the air she breathed, and it made very little impression on her whether a man more or less lost his heart to her or not. Moreover, as Gillian recognised it was almost inevitable that this should be the case. The influences by which Magda had been surrounded during the first ten plastic years of childhood had all tended to imbue her with the idea that men were only to be regarded as playthings, and that from the simple standpoint of self-defence it was wiser not to take them seriously. If you did, they invariably showed a disposition to become tyrants. Gillian made allowance for this; nevertheless she had no intention of letting Magda down lightly.
“I believe you were created without a soul,” she informed her candidly.
Magda smiled a little.
“Do you know you’re the second person to tell me that?” she said. “The idea’s not a bit original. Michael Quarrington told me the same thing in other words. Perhaps, perhaps it’s true.”
“Of course, it’s not true!” Gillian contradicted her warmly. “I only said it because I was so out of patience with you.”
“Everybody seems to be hating me rather badly just now.” Magda spoke somewhat forlornly. “And yet—I don’t think I’m any different from usual.”