front door, and
Magda crossed the pavement and entered her waiting car.

Outside, the fog hung like a thick pall over London--thick enough to
curtain the windows of the car with a blank, grey veil and to make
progress through the streets a difficult and somewhat dangerous process.
Magda snuggled into her furs and leant back against the padded cushions.
All sight of the outside world was cut off from her, except for the
blurred gleam of an occasional street-lamp or the menacing shape of a
motor-bus looming suddenly alongside, and she yielded herself to the
train of thought provoked by her talk with Lady Arabella.

In a detached sort of way she felt sorry about Kit Raynham--principally
because Lady Arabella, of whom she was exceedingly fond, seemed vexed
about the matter. It had not taken her long to discover, when as a child
she had come to live with her godmother, the warm heart that concealed
itself beneath the old lady's somewhat shrewish exterior. And to
Lady Arabella the advent of her god-child had been a matter for pure
rejoicing.

Having no children of her own, she lavished a pent-up wealth of
affection upon Magda of which few would have thought her capable, and
though she was by no means niggardly in her blame of Hugh Vallincourt
for his method of shelving his responsibilities, she was grateful that
his withdrawal into the monastic life had been the means of throwing
Magda into her care. Five years later, when death claimed him, she found
he had appointed her the child's sole guardian.

True to her intention, she had asked the opinion of Lydia Tchinova, the
famous dancer, and under Madame Tchinova's guidance Magda had received
such training that when she came to make her debut she leaped into fame
at once. Hers was one of those rare cases where the initial drudgery and
patient waiting that attends so many careers was practically eliminated,
and at the age of twenty she was probably the most talked-of woman in
London.

She had discarded the family surname for professional purposes, and
appeared in public under the name of Wielitzska--"to save the reigning
Vallincourts from a soul convulsion," as she observed with a twinkle.
During the last year, influenced by the growing demands of her vocation,
she had quitted her godmother's hospitable roof and established herself
in a house of her own.

Nor had Lady Arabella sought to dissuade her. Although she and Magda
were the best of friends, she had latterly found t