ng with its undercurrent
of keen contempt. Each word stung like the flick of a lash on bare
flesh. But she forced herself to answer--and to answer honestly.

"Yes," she said very low. "That was it."

He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

"Comment is superfluous, I think."

She made an impulsive step towards him.

For some unfathomable reason she minded--minded intensely--that this
man should hold her in such poor esteem. She wanted to put herself right
with him, to justify her attitude in his eyes.

"Have you ever seen me dance?" she asked abruptly.

Surely if he had ever seen that wonderful artistry which she knew
was hers, witnessed the half-crazy enthusiasm with which her audience
received her, he would make allowance, judge her a little less harshly
for what was, after all, a very natural assumption on the part of a
stage favourite.

An expression of unwilling admiration came into his eyes.

"Have I seen you dance?" he repeated. "Yes, I have. Several times."

He did not add--which would have been no more than the truth--that
during her last winter's season at the Imperial Theatre he had hardly
missed a dozen performances.

"Then--then----" Magda spoke with a kind of incredulous appeal. "Can't
you understand--just a little?"

"Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. You've been spoilt and
idolised to such an extent that it seems incredible to you to find a man
who doesn't immediately fall down and worship you."

Magda twisted her hands together. Once more he was thrusting at her with
the rapier of truth. And it hurt--hurt inexplicably.

"Yes, I believe that's--almost true," she acknowledged falteringly.
"But if you understand so well, couldn't you--can't you"--with a swift
supplicating smile--"be a little more merciful?"

"No. I--I _hate_ your type of woman!"

There was an undertone of passion in his voice. It was almost as though
he were fighting against some impulse within himself and the fierceness
of the struggle had wrung from him that quick, unvarnished protest.

"Then you despise dancers?"

"Despise? On the contrary, I revere a dancer--the dancer who is
a genuine artist." He paused, then went on speaking thoughtfully.
"Dancing, to my mind, is one of the most consistent expressions of
beauty. It's the sheer symmetry and grace of that body which was made in
God's own likeness developed to the utmost limit of human perfection.
. . . And the dancer who desecrates the temple of his bod