dly. "Surely self-preservation is the first
instinct of the human species?"

She picked up the challenge and tossed it lightly back to him.

"Is the danger, then, very great?"

"I think it is. So, like a wise man, I propose to avoid it."

"How?"

"Why, by quitting the danger zone. I go to Paris to-morrow."

"To Paris?"

Magda experienced a sudden feeling of blankness. It was inexplicable,
but somehow the knowledge that Quarrington was going away seemed to take
all the savour out of things. It was only by a supreme effort that she
contrived to keep her tone as light and unconcerned as his own as she
continued:

"And then--after Paris?"

"After Paris? Oh, Spain possibly. Or the Antipodes!"--with a short
laugh.

"Who's talking about the Antipodes?" suddenly chimed in Lady Arabella.
"Home to bed's my next move. Gillian, you come with me--the car can take
you on to Hampstead after dropping me in Park Lane. And Virginie can
drive back with Magda."

"Yes, do go with Marraine," said Magda, nodding acquiescence in reply to
Gillian's glance of interrogation. "I have to dress yet."

There was a general move towards the door.

"Good-bye"--Magda's slim hand lay for a moment in Quarrington's. "I--I'm
sorry you're going away, Saint Michel."

Only Michael heard the last two words, uttered in that _trainante_,
slightly husky voice that held so much of music and appeal. He turned
abruptly and made his way out of the room in the wake of Gillian and
Lady Arabella.

"You'd better postpone your visit to the Antipodes, Mr. Quarrington,"
said the latter, as presently they all three stood together in the
vestibule, halted by the stream of people pouring out from the theatre.
"I'm giving a dinner-party next week, with a 'crush' to follow. Stay and
come to it."

"It's awfully kind of you, Lady Arabella, but I'm afraid it's
impossible."

"Fiddlesticks! You're a free agent, aren't you?"--looking at him keenly.

A whimsical light gleamed for an instant in the grey eyes.

"I sometimes wonder if I am," he returned.

"There's only one cord I know of that can't be either unknotted--or cut.
And that's lack of money. That's not your complaint"--significantly.

"No."

"So you'll come?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Magda has promised to dance for me," proceeded Lady Arabella, entirely
disregarding his quietly uttered negative. "They're not giving _The
Swan-Maiden_ that night at the Imperial. She can't dine, of course, poor
dear. Re