“I thought I was shelved altogether.”

Thus Dan Storran, rather crossly, when, a day or two later, he met Gillian by appointment for lunch at their favourite little restaurant in Soho.  It was the first time she had been able to fix up a meeting with him since Magda’s return, as naturally his customary visits to Friars’ Holm were out of the question now.

“Well, you expected my time to be pretty well occupied the first week or two after Magda came back, didn’t you?” countered Gillian.

She smiled as she spoke and proceeded leisurely to draw off her gloves, while Storran signalled to a waiter.

She was really very glad to see him again.  There was something so solid and dependable about him, and she felt it would be very comforting to confide in him her anxieties concerning Magda.  Not that she anticipated he would have any particular compassion to bestow upon the latter.  But she was femininely aware that inasmuch as Magda’s affairs were disturbing her peace of mind, he would listen to them with sympathetic attention and probably, out of the depths of his man’s consciousness, produce some quite sound and serviceable advice.

Being a wise woman, however, she did not launch out into immediate explanation, but waited for him to work off his own individual grumble at not having seen her recently, trusting to the perfectly cooked little lunch to exercise a tranquillising effect.

It was not until they had reached the cigarette and coffee stage of the proceedings that she allowed a small, well-considered sigh to escape her and drift away into the silence that had fallen between them.  Storran glanced across at her with suddenly observant eyes.

“What is it?” he asked quickly.  “You look worried.  Are you?”

She nodded silently.

“And here I’ve been grousing away about my own affairs all the time!  Why didn’t you stop me?”

“You know I’m interested in your affairs.”

“And I’m interested in yours.  What’s bothering you, Gillian?  Tell me.”

“Magda,” said Gillian simply.

She was rather surprised to observe that Dan’s face did not, as usual, darken at the mere mention of Magda’s name.

“I saw her the other day,” he said quickly.  “I was in the Park and she drove by.”

Gillian felt that there was something more to come.  She waited in silence.

“She has altered very much,” he went on bluntly.  Then, after a moment:  “I felt—­sorry for her.”

“You did, Dan?” Gillian’s face lit up.  “I’m glad.  I’ve always hated your being so down on her.”

With an abrupt movement he jabbed the glowing stub of his cigarette on to an ash-tray, pressing it down until it went out.  Then, taking out his case, he lit another before replying.

“I shan’t be ‘down on her’ any more,” he said at last.  “I never guessed she’d felt things—­like that.”

“No.  No one did.  I don’t suppose even Magda herself knew she could ever go through all she has done just for an ideal.”