little bow. "As Mrs. Grey has just
remarked--Circle was very beautiful."

"You score," observed Magda demurely. There was a glint of amusement in
her eyes.

"Yes, I think he does," agreed Lady Arabella, who was deriving an
impish, pixie-like enjoyment from the situation. Then, recognising that
it might be more diplomatic not to press the matter any further at the
moment, she skilfully drew the conversation into other channels.

It was not until evening, after dinner, that she reverted to the
subject. They had all four been partaking of coffee and cigarettes
on the verandah, and subsequently she had proposed a stroll in the
garden--a suggestion to which Gillian responded with alacrity. Magda,
her slim length extended on a comfortably cushioned wicker lunge, shook
her head.

"I'm too comfortable to stir," she declared idly.

Lady Arabella paused at the edge of the verandah and contemplated her
critically. Something in the girl's pose and in the long, lithe lines of
her recumbent figure was responsible for her next remark.

"I can see you as Circe," she commented, "quite well." She tucked her
arm into Gillian's and, as they moved away together, threw back over her
shoulder: "By the way, have you two settled the vexed question of the
model for the picture yet?"

Quarrington blew a thin stream of smoke into the air before replying.
Then, looking quizzically across at Magda, he asked: "Have we?"

"Have we what?"

"Decided whether you will sit for my picture of Circe?"

Magda lifted her long white lids and met his glance.

"Why should I?" she asked lazily.

He shrugged his shoulders with apparent unconcern.

"No reason in the world--unless you feel inclined to do a good turn."

His indifference was maddening.

"I don't make a habit of doing good turns," she retorted sharply.

"So I should imagine."

The contemptuous edge to his voice roused her to indignation. As always,
she found herself stung to the quick by the man's coolly critical
attitude towards her. She was back once more in the atmosphere of their
first meeting on the day he had come to her assistance in the fog.
It seemed almost incredible that all that followed had ever taken
place--incredible that he had ever cared for her or taught her to
care for him. At least he was making it very clear to her now that he
intended to cut those intervening memories out of his life.

It was a sheer challenge to her femininity, and everything that was
woman i