“Then you despise dancers?”
“Despise? On the contrary, I revere a dancer—the dancer who is a genuine artist.” He paused, then went on speaking thoughtfully. “Dancing, to my mind, is one of the most consistent expressions of beauty. It’s the sheer symmetry and grace of that body which was made in God’s own likeness developed to the utmost limit of human perfection. . . . And the dancer who desecrates the temple of his body is punished proportionately. No art is a harder taskmistress than the art of dancing.”
Magda listened breathlessly. This man understood—oh, he understood! Then why did he “hate her type of woman”?
Almost as though he had read her thoughts he pursued:
“As a dancer, an artist—I acknowledge the Wielitzska to be supreme. But as a woman——”
“Yes? As a woman? Go on. What do you know about me as a woman?”
He laughed disagreeably.
“I’d judge that in the making of you your soul got left out,” he said drily.
Magda forced a smile.
“I’m afraid I’m very stupid. Do you mind explaining?”