“I don’t see how it can do her any good,” protested Gillian.  “Magda isn’t cut out for a sisterhood.”

“That’s just why it may be good for her.”

“I don’t believe in mortification of the flesh and all that sort of thing, either,” continued Gillian obstinately.

“My dear, we must all work out our own salvation—­each in his own way.  Prayer and fasting would never be my method.  But for some people it’s the only way.  I believe it is for the Vallincourts.  In any case, it’s only for a year.  And a year is very little time out of life.”

Nevertheless, at Gillian’s urgent request, Lady Arabella made an effort to dissuade Magda from her intention.

“If you live long enough, my dear,” she told her crispy, “providence will see to it that you get your deserts.  You needn’t be so anxious to make sure of them.  Retribution is a very sure-footed traveller.”

“It isn’t only retribution, punishment, I’m looking for,” returned Magda.  “It is—­I can’t quite explain it, Marraine, but even though Michael never sees me or speaks to me again, I’d like to feel I’d made myself into the sort of woman he would speak to.”

From that standpoint she refused to move, declining even to discuss the matter further, but proceeded quietly and unswervingly with her arrangements.  The failure to complete her contract at the Imperial Theatre involved her in a large sum of money by way of forfeit, but this she paid ungrudgingly, feeling as though it were the first step along the new road of renunciation she designed to tread.

To the manager she offered no further explanation than that she proposed to give up dancing, “at any rate for a year or so,” and although he was nearly distracted over the idea, he found his arguments and persuasions were no more effective than those King Canute optimistically addressed to the encroaching waves.  The utmost concession he could extract from Magda was her assent to giving a farewell appearance—­for which occasion the astute manager privately decided to quadruple the price of the seats.  He only wished it were possible to quadruple the seating capacity of the theatre as well!

Meanwhile Gillian, whose normal, healthy young mind recoiled from the idea of Magda’s self-imposed year of discipline, had secretly resolved upon making a final desperate venture in the hope of straightening out the tangle of her friend’s life.  She would go herself and see Michael and plead with him.  Surely, if he loved Magda as he had once seemed to do, he would not remain obdurate when he realised how bitterly she had repented—­and how much she loved him!

It was not easy for Gillian to come to this decision.  She held very strong opinions on the subject of the rights of the individual to manage his own affairs without interference, and as she passed out of the busy main street into the quiet little old-world court where Michael had his rooms and studio she felt as guilty as a small boy caught trespassing in an orchard.