“There, run along.  Look, would you like to take Virginie with you?”

“No, no.”  Gillian shook her head decidedly.  “I shall be quite all right.  Oh, Magda!”—­impulsively drawing the slender figure close into her arms a moment.  “You are good!”

Magda laughed a trifle bitterly.

“That would be news to the world at large!” she replied.  Then cheerfully:  “Now, don’t worry, Gillyflower.  Remember they’ve got a doctor there.  And ’phone me presently about Coppertop.  If he’s worse, I’ll come home as early as I can get away.  Send the car straight back here.”

As soon as Gillian had gone, Magda flung a loose wrap over her diaphanous draperies and turned to Virginie.

“Where is Monsieur Davilof?  Do you know?”

“Mais oui, mademoiselle!  I saw him through the doorway as I came from ordering the car.  He is in the library.”

“Alone?”

“Oui, mademoiselle!” Virginie nodded eloquently.  “He smokes a cigarette—­to steady the nerves, I suppose.”

Magda went swiftly out of the room.  She reached the hall by way of an unfrequented passage and slipped into the library closing the door behind her.

“Antoine!”

At the sound of her voice Davilof, who had been standing by the fire, wheeled round.

“You!” he exclaimed violently.  “You!” And then remained silent, staring at her.

“You knew I was dancing here to-night,” she said chidingly.  “Why are you so startled?  We were bound to meet, weren’t we?”

“No, we were not.  I proposed leaving the house the moment my solo was over.”

Magda laughed a little.

“So afraid of me, Antoine?” she mocked gently.

He made no answer, but his hands, hanging at his sides, clenched suddenly.

Magda advanced a few steps towards him and paused.

“Davilof,” she said quietly.  “Will you play for me to-night?”

He looked at her, puzzled.

“Play for you?” he repeated.  “But you have Mrs. Grey.”

“No.  She can’t accompany me this evening.”

“And you ask me?” His voice held blank amazement.

“Yes.  Will you do it?”

“Do you remember what I told you the last time we met?  That I would never play for you again?”

Magda drew her breath slowly.  It was hurting her pride far more than Gillian knew or could imagine to ask a favour of this man.  And he wasn’t going to make it easy for her, either—­that was evident.  But she must ask it, nevertheless.  For Gillian’s sake; for the sake of poor little Coppertop fighting for breath and with no “mummie” at hand to help and comfort him; and for the sake of Lady Arabella, too.  After promising to dance for her she couldn’t let her godmother down by crying off at the last moment, when all the world and his wife had come crowding to her house on the strength of that promise.

So she bent her head in response to Davilof’s contemptuous question.