a,
returned from shopping in the village, approaching up the drive.
"Mrs. Grey is so simple and--to use an overworked word--so essentially
womanly."

"And Magda?"

The hard look deepened in Michael's eyes.

"Essentially--feminine," he answered curtly. "A quite different thing."

"She hasn't found her soul yet," said Lady Arabella. Adding with sudden
daring: "Suppose you find it for her, Michael?"

"I don't think the search would interest me," he returned coolly. "I
haven't the instinct of the prospector." He paused, then went on slowly
and as though making the admission almost against his will: "But I'd
like to paint her."

"A portrait of her?"

"No, not a portrait."

"Then you mean you want her to sit for your 'Circe'?"

Lady Arabella knew all about the important picture he had in mind to
paint. They had often discussed it together during the progress of the
sittings she had been giving him, and she was aware that so far he had
been unable to find a suitable model.

"Yes," he said slowly. "She is the perfect model for such a
subject--body and soul."

Lady Arabella ignored the sneer.

"Then why not ask her to sit for you?"

Quarrington's brows drew together.

"You know the answer to that, I think, Lady Arabella," he answered
curtly.

"Oh, you men! I've no patience with you!" exclaimed the old lady
testily. "_I_ shall ask her, then!"

Gillian and Magda, laden with parcels, entered the room as she spoke,
and, before Quarrington could prevent her, she had flashed round on her
god-daughter.

"Magda, here's Michael in need of a model for the best picture he's ever
likely to paint, and it seems you exactly fit the bill. Will you sit for
him?"

Followed an astonished silence. Gillian glanced apprehensively towards
Magda. She felt as though Lady Arabella had suddenly let off a firework
in their midst. Magda halted in the process of unwrapping a small
parcel.

"What is the subject of the picture?"

There was a perceptible pause. Then Lady Arabella took the bull by the
horns.

"Circe," she said tersely.

"Oh!" Magda seemed to reflect. "She turned men into swine, didn't she?"
She looked across at Quarrington. "And I'm to understand you think I'd
make a suitable model for that particular subject?"

"She was a very beautiful person," suggested Gillian hastily.

"Mr. Quarrington hasn't answered my question," persisted Magda.

He met her glance with cool defiance.

"Then, yes," he returned with a