She dropped a light kiss on the top of his red curls.
“‘Fraid so, Coppertop,” she said. “You wouldn’t want Fairy Lady to dance badly and tumble down, would you?”
But Coppertop was not to be taken in so easily.
“Huh!” he scoffed. “You couldn’t tumble down—not never!”
“Still, you mustn’t be greedy, Topkins,” urged Magda persuasively. “Remember all the grown-up people who want me to dance to them! I can’t keep it all for one little boy.” He stared at her for a moment in silence. Suddenly he flung his arms round her slender hips, clutching her tightly, and hid his face against her skirt.
“Oh, Fairy Lady, you are so booful—so booful!” he whispered in a smothered voice. Then, with a big sigh: “But one little boy won’t be greedy.” He turned to his mother. “Come along, mummie!” he commanded superbly. And trotted out of the room beside her with his small head well up.
Left alone, Davilof and Magda smiled across at one another.
“Funny little person, isn’t he?” she said.
The musician nodded.
“Grown-ups might possibly envy the freedom of speech permitted to childhood,” he said quietly. Then, still more quietly: “‘Fairy Lady, you are so beautiful!’”