m chin to cheek-bone had
hollowed somewhat and his eyes held a certain feverish brightness. But
although she could see the alteration, it did not move her in the least.
She felt perfectly indifferent. It was as though the band of ice
which seemed to have clasped itself about her heart when she heard of
Michael's marriage had frozen her capacity for feeling anything at all.

"I thought once"--Davilof was speaking again--"I thought once that you
had said 'no' to me because of Quarrington. But now I know you never
cared for him----"

"How do you know?"

The question sprang from her lips before she was aware.

"How do I know?" Davilof laughed harshly. "Why, because the man who was
loved by Magda Wielitzska wouldn't marry any other woman. There would be
no other woman in the world for him. . . . There's no other woman in the
world for me." His control was rapidly deserting him. "Magda, I can't
live without you! I've told you--I can neither eat nor sleep. I burn for
you! If you refuse to give yourself to me, you destroy me!"

Swept by an emotion stronger than himself, his acquired Englishisms went
by the board. He was all Pole in the picturesque ardour of his speech.

Magda regarded him calmly.

"My dear Davilof," she said quietly. "What weight do you suppose such an
argument would have with me?"

The cool, ironic little question, with its insolent indifference,
checked him like the flick of a lash across the face. He turned away.

"None, I suppose," he admitted bitterly. "You are fire and flame--but
within, you are ice."

"Yes," she said, almost as though to herself. "Within, I'm ice. I
believe that's true."

"True!" he repeated. "Of course it's true. If it were not----"

A slight smile tilted her mouth.

"Well?" she echoed. "If it were not?"

He swung round. With a quick stride he was beside her. His eyes blazing
with a sudden fury of passion and resentment, he caught her by the
shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"God!" he muttered thickly. "What are you made of? You make men go
through hell for you! Even here--here in this little country place--you
do it! Storran's wife--one can see her heart breaks, and it is you who
are breaking it. Yet nothing touches you! You've no conscience like
other women--no heart--"

Magda pulled herself out of his grasp.

"Oh, do forget that I'm a woman, Davilof! I'm a dancer. Nothing else
matters. I don't want to be troubled with a heart. And--and I think they
left out m