The sharp, authoritative tones startled her into sudden compliance.  She opened her mouth and swallowed the contents of the glass with a gulp.  Then she looked resentfully at the man whose curt command she had obeyed in such unexpected fashion.  Magda Wielitzska was more used to giving orders than to taking them.

“There, that’s better,” he observed, regarding the empty glass with satisfaction.  “No, lie still”—­as she attempted to rise.  “You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

“I’m better now,” declared Magda sulkily.

Her head was growing clearer every minute.  She was even able to feel an intense irritation against this man who had just compelled her to drink the sal volatile.

He looked at her unperturbedly.

“Are you?  That’s good.  Still, you’ll stay where you are till I tell you that you may get up.”  He turned to a comfortable-looking woman who was standing at the foot of the couch on which Magda lay—­a housekeeper of the nice old-fashioned black-satin kind.  “Now, Mrs. Braithwaite, I think this lady will be glad of a cup of tea by the time you can have one ready.”

“Very good, sir.”

With a last, admiring glance at the slender figure on the couch the good woman bustled away, leaving Magda alone with her unknown host and burning with indignation at the cool way in which he had ordered her to remain where she was.

He had his back to her for the moment, having turned to poke up the fire, and Magda raised herself on her elbow, preparatory to getting off the couch.  He swung round instantly.

“I told you to stay where you were,” he said peremptorily.

“I don’t always do as I’m told,” she retorted with spirit.

“You will in this instance, though,” he rejoined, crossing the room swiftly towards her.

But quick though he was, she was still quicker.  Her eyes blazing defiance, she slipped from the couch and stood up before he could reach her side.  She took a step forward.

“There!” she began defiantly.  The next moment the whole room seemed to swim round her as she tottered weakly and would have fallen had he not caught her.

“What did I tell you?” he said sharply.  “You’re not fit to stand.”

Without more ado he lifted her up in his arms and deposited her again on the couch.

“I—­I only turned a little giddy,” she protested feebly.

“Precisely.  Just as I thought you would.  Another time, perhaps, you’ll obey orders.”

He stood looking down at her with curiously brilliant grey eyes.  Magda almost winced under their penetrating glance.  She felt as though they could see into her very soul, and she summoned up all her courage to combat the man’s strange force.

“I’m not used to obeying orders,” she said impatiently.

“No?”—­with complete indifference.  “Then it will be a salutary experience for you.  Now, lie still until tea comes.  I have a letter to write.”