he lissom lines of
her figure, and with her satiny hair coiled in a simple knot at the nape
of her neck. There was little or nothing about her to remind one of the
successful ballerina, and Michael found himself poignantly recalling
the innocent, appealing charm of the Swan-Maiden. It was difficult to
associate this woman with that other who had so unconsciously turned
down his pal--the man who had loved her.

"Well? Did it go all right?"

Magda's eyes sought Gillian's eagerly as she put the question.

"Did it go?" Mrs. Grey's voice held all the unqualified enthusiasm any
artiste could desire.

"Oh, Magda! It was wonderful! The most wonderful, beautiful dance I've
ever seen."

"And you know it as well as we do," interpolated Lady Arabella tartly,
but smiling pridefully in spite of herself.

"Still, of course, she likes to hear us _say_ it." Gillian championed
her friend stoutly.

"The whole world will be saying it to-morrow," observed Quarrington
quietly.

Here Virginie created a diversion by handing round cups of freshly
brewed tea.

"You'll get nerves--drinking tea at this hour of the night," commented
Lady Arabella, accepting a cup with alacrity, nevertheless.

"I take it very weak," protested Magda, smiling faintly. "It's the only
thing I like after dancing."

But Lady Arabella was already deep in conversation with Gillian and
Virginie--a conversation which resolved itself chiefly into a laudatory
chorus regarding the evening's performance. In the background Magda's
maid moved quietly to and fro, carefully putting away her mistress's
dancing dresses. For the moment Michael and Magda were to all intents
and purposes alone.

"I shall not easily forget to-night," he said rather low, drawing a
chair up beside her.

"You liked it, then?" she asked hesitatingly--almost shyly.

"'Like' is hardly the word."

Magda flashed him a swift glance.

"And yet," she said slowly, "I'm the 'type of woman you hate.'"

"You make it rather difficult to maintain the point of view," he
admitted.

She was silent a moment.

"You were very unkind to me that day," she said at last.

Their eyes met and in hers was something soft and dangerously disarming.
Quarrington got up suddenly from his chair.

"Perhaps I was unkind to you so that I might not be unkind to myself,"
he replied curtly.

Magda's soft laugh rippled out.

"But how selfish! And--and aren't you being rather mysterious?"

"Am I?" he returned pointe