She laughed delightedly. Then, turning to Davilof, she drew him into the conversation and the talk became general.
Later, as they were all three standing in the hall preparatory to departure, she flashed another of her sudden remarks at Quarrington.
“I understand you came to my god-daughter’s rescue in that bad fog last week?”
The quiet grey eyes revealed nothing.
“I was privileged to be some little use,” he replied lightly.
“I hardly gathered you regarded it as a privilege,” observed her ladyship drily.
The shaft went home. A fleeting light gleamed for a moment in the grey eyes. Davilof was standing a few paces away, being helped into his coat by a man-servant, and Quarrington spoke low and quickly.
“She told you?” he said. There was astonishment—resentment, almost—in his voice.
“No, no.” Lady Arabella, smiling to herself, reassured him hastily. “It was a shot in the dark on my part. Magda never confides details. She hands you out an unadorned slice of fact and leaves you to interpret it as you choose. But if you know her rather well—as I do—and can add two and two together and make five or any unlikely number of them, why, then you can fill in some of the blanks for yourself.”
She glanced at him with impish amusement as she moved towards the door.