Gillian looked at her in surprise. She had never seen Magda quite like this before; her sombre eyes held a curious strained look like those of some wild thing of the forest caught in a trap and in pain.
“And you don’t know who he was—I mean the man who came to your help and then lectured you?”
“Yes, I do. It was Michael Quarrington, the artist.”
“Michael Quarrington? Why, he has the reputation of being a most charming man!”
Magda stared into the fire.
“I dare say he might have a great deal of charm if he cared to exert it. Apparently, however, he didn’t think I was worth the effort.”
CHAPTER IV
IN THE MIRROR ROOM
Shouts of mirth came jubilantly from the Mirror Room as Davilof made his way thither one afternoon a few days later. The shrill peal of a child’s laughter rose gaily above the lower note of women’s voices, and when the accompanist opened the door it was to discover Magda completely engrossed in giving Coppertop a first dancing lesson, while Gillian sat stitching busily away at some small nether garments afflicted with rents and tears in sundry places. Every now and again she glanced up with softly amused eyes to watch her son’s somewhat unsteady efforts in the Terpsichorean art.