Gillian and Magda, laden with parcels, entered the room as she spoke, and, before Quarrington could prevent her, she had flashed round on her god-daughter.
“Magda, here’s Michael in need of a model for the best picture he’s ever likely to paint, and it seems you exactly fit the bill. Will you sit for him?”
Followed an astonished silence. Gillian glanced apprehensively towards Magda. She felt as though Lady Arabella had suddenly let off a firework in their midst. Magda halted in the process of unwrapping a small parcel.
“What is the subject of the picture?”
There was a perceptible pause. Then Lady Arabella took the bull by the horns.
“Circe,” she said tersely.
“Oh!” Magda seemed to reflect. “She turned men into swine, didn’t she?” She looked across at Quarrington. “And I’m to understand you think I’d make a suitable model for that particular subject?”
“She was a very beautiful person,” suggested Gillian hastily.
“Mr. Quarrington hasn’t answered my question,” persisted Magda.
He met her glance with cool defiance.