it."

"True, miladi. But I was not designed for diplomacy, and a man can only
use the weapons heaven has given him."

"I wouldn't have suggested heaven as invariably the source of your
inspirations," retorted Lady Arabella. And hopped into the car.

They arrived at the Imperial Theatre to find Mrs. Grey already seated in
Lady Arabella's box. Someone else was there, too--old Virginie, with her
withered-apple cheeks and bright brown, bird-like eyes, still active
and erect and very little altered from the Virginie of ten years before.
Just as she had devoted herself to Diane, so now she devoted herself
to Diane's daughter, and no first performance of a new dance of the
Wielitzska's took place without Virginie's presence somewhere in the
house. To-night, Lady Arabella had invited her into her box and Virginie
was a quivering bundle of excitement. She rose from her seat at the back
of the box as the newcomers entered.

"Sit down, Virginie." Lady Arabella nodded kindly to the Frenchwoman.
"And pull your chair forward. You'll see nothing back there, and there
is plenty of room for us all."

"_Merci, madame. Madame est bien gentille._" Virginie's voice was
fervent with ecstatic gratitude as she resumed her seat and waited
expectantly for Magda's appearance.

Other dances, performed principally by lesser lights of the company and
affording only a briefly tantalising glimpse of Magda herself, preceded
the chief event of the evening. But at last the next item on the
programme read as _The Swan-Maiden (adapted from an Old Legend)_, and
a tremour of excitement, a sudden hush of eager anticipation, rippled
through the audience like wind over grass.

Slowly the heavy silken curtains drew to either side of the stage,
revealing a sunlit glade. In the background glimmered the still waters
of a lake, while at the foot of a tree, in an attitude of tranquil
repose, lay the Swan-Maiden--Magda. One white, naked arm was curved
behind her head, pillowing it, the other lay lightly across her body,
palm upward, with the rosy-tipped fingers curled inwards a little, like
a sleeping child's. She looked infinitely young as she lay there, her
slender, pliant limbs relaxed in untroubled slumber.

Lady Arabella, with Quarrington sitting next to her in the box, heard
the quick intake of his breath as he leaned suddenly forward.

"Yes, it has quite a familiar look," she observed. "Reminds me of your
'Repose of Titania.'"

His eyes flickered i