d in the
prospect of a lazy evening spent at home, since to-night she was not due
to appear in any of the ballets to be given at the Imperial Theatre.

Outside, the snow was falling steadily in feathery flakes, hiding the
grime of London beneath a garment of shimmering white and transforming
the commonplace houses built of brick and mortar, each capped with its
ugly chimneystack, into glittering fairy palaces, crowned with silver
towers and minarets.

The bitter weather served to emphasise the easy comfort of the room, and
Magda curled up into her chair luxuriously. She was expecting Michael
to dinner at Friars' Holm this evening. They had not seen each other for
three whole days, so that there was an added edge to her enjoyment of
the prospect. She would have so much to tell him! About the triumphant
reception she had had the other night down at the theatre--he had been
prevented from being present--and about the unwarrantable attitude
Davilof had adopted, which had been worrying her not a little. He would
sympathise with her over that--the effortless sympathy of the man in
possession!

Then the unwelcome thought obtruded itself that if the snow continued
falling Michael might be weather-bound and unable to get out to
Hampstead. She uncurled herself from her chair and ran to the window.
The sky stretched sombrely away in every direction. No sign of a break
in the lowering, snow-filled clouds! She drummed on the window with
impatient fingers; and then, drowning the little tapping noise they
made, came the sound of an opening door and Melrose's placid voice
announcing:

"Mr. Quarrington."

Magda whirled round from the window.

"Michael!" she exclaimed joyfully. "I was just wondering if you would
be able to get over this evening. I suppose you came while you
could!"--laughing. "I shouldn't be in the least surprised if you were
snowed up here. Shall you mind--dreadfully--if you are?"

But Michael made no response to the tenderly mocking question, nor
did her smile draw from him any answering smile. She looked at him
waveringly. He had been in the room quite long enough to take her in his
arms and kiss her. And he hadn't done it.

"Michael----" She faltered a little. "How queer you are! Have
you--brought bad news?" A sudden dread rushed through her. "It's
not--Marraine?"

"No, no." He spoke hastily, answering the startled apprehension in her
eyes. "It's not that."

Her mind, alertly prescient, divined signific