Gillian regarded her consideringly.  To her, the whole pitiful tragedy was so clear.  She could envisage the point of view of Kit’s mother only too well, and sympathise with it.  Yet, understanding Magda better than most people did, she realised that the dancer was hardly as culpable as Lady Raynham thought her.

Homage and admiration were as natural to Magda as the air she breathed, and it made very little impression on her whether a man more or less lost his heart to her or not.  Moreover, as Gillian recognised it was almost inevitable that this should be the case.  The influences by which Magda had been surrounded during the first ten plastic years of childhood had all tended to imbue her with the idea that men were only to be regarded as playthings, and that from the simple standpoint of self-defence it was wiser not to take them seriously.  If you did, they invariably showed a disposition to become tyrants.  Gillian made allowance for this; nevertheless she had no intention of letting Magda down lightly.

“I believe you were created without a soul,” she informed her candidly.

Magda smiled a little.

“Do you know you’re the second person to tell me that?” she said.  “The idea’s not a bit original.  Michael Quarrington told me the same thing in other words.  Perhaps, perhaps it’s true.”

“Of course, it’s not true!” Gillian contradicted her warmly.  “I only said it because I was so out of patience with you.”

“Everybody seems to be hating me rather badly just now.”  Magda spoke somewhat forlornly.  “And yet—­I don’t think I’m any different from usual.”

“I don’t think you are,” retorted Gillian.  “But it’s your ‘usual’ that’s so disastrous.  You go sailing through life like a beautiful cold star—­perfectly impassive and heartless.”

“I’m not heartless.  I love you—­and Marraine.  You surely don’t blame me because I don’t ‘fall in love’? . . .  I don’t want to fall in love,” she added with sudden vehemence.

“I wish to goodness you would!” exclaimed Gillian impatiently.  “If only you cared enough about anybody to do something really outrageous—­run off with another woman’s husband, even—­I believe I should respect you more than I do now.”

Magda laughed.

“Gillyflower, I’m afraid you’ve no morals.  And you here in the capacity of watchdog and duenna, too!”

“It’s all very well to make a joke of everything.  But I know—­I’m sure this business about Kit Raynham is going to be more serious than you think.  It’s bound to affect you.”

Magda stared at her blankly.

“What nonsense!  Affect me—­why should it?  How can it?”

“How can it?”—­with bitterness.  “Everyone will talk—­more than usual!  You can’t smash up people’s only sons—­not lovable, popular boys like Kit—­without there being a fuss.  You—­you should have left a kid like that alone.”

And she went out of the room, banging the door behind her like a big full-stop.