"Are you Maga Jhaere?" asked Gloria, first of us all to recover some measure of self-command.
Maga nodded. She was barefooted, clothed only in bodice and leather jacket and a rather short ochre-colored skirt that blew in the gaining wind and showed the outline of her lithe young figure. Her long black hair billowed and galloped in the wind behind her.
"I am Maga Jhaere," she said slowly, addressing Gloria. "Who are you?"
"My name is Gloria Vanderman."
"And that man beside you—who is he?"
Gloria did not answer. Will looked more embarrassed than the devil caught in daylight, and Fred recovered his mental equilibrium sufficiently to chuckle.
"Is he your husband?"
"No."
"Then what you want with 'im?"
No one said a word. Only, Fred made a movement with his hand behind him that Maga noticed and spurned with a toss of her chin.