The Lamp of Fate Part 28

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 impa.s.sive 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.

Gillian's prophecy proved only too accurate. People did talk. Kit Raynham had been a general favourite in society, and his disappearance, taken in conjunction with the well-known fact of his infatuation for Magda, created a sensation.

Even when the theory of suicide was finally disproved by his mother's receiving a letter from Australia, whither it appeared, the boy had betaken himself and his disappointment, people seemed at first disinclined to overlook Magda's share in the matter. For a time even her immense prestige as a dancer suffered some eclipse, but this, with a performer of her supreme artistry, was bound to be only a pa.s.sing phase.

The world will always condone where it wants to be amused. And--now that the gloom of young Raynham's supposed suicide was lifted from the affair--there was a definite aroma of romance about it which was not without its appeal to the younger generation.

So that gradually the pendulum swung back and Magda's audiences were once again as big and enthusiastic as ever. Perhaps even more enthusiastic, since the existence of a romantic and dramatic attachment sheds a certain glamour about any well-known artiste.

All of which affected Magda herself comparatively little--though it irritated her that her actions should be criticised. What did affect her, however, absorbing her thoughts to the exclusion of all other matters, was that since the night of Lady Arabella's reception she had received neither word nor sign from Michael Quarrington.

She could not understand it. Had he been a different type of man she might have credited him with having yielded to a sudden impulse, kissing her as some men will kiss women--lightly and without giving or asking more than the moment's caress.

But Quarrington was essentially not the man to be carried away by a pa.s.sing fancy. That he had cared for her against his will, against his better judgment, Magda could not but realise. _But he had cared!_ She was sure of it. And he was the only man for whom her own pulses had ever beaten one whit the faster.

His touch, the sound of his voice, the swift, hawk-like glance of those grey eyes of his, had power to wake in her a vague tumult of emotion at once sweet and frightening; and in that brief moment in the "Garden of Eden," when he had held her in his arms, she had been tremulously ready to yield--to surrender to the love which claimed her.

But the days had multiplied to weeks and still the silence which had followed remained unbroken. As far as Magda was concerned, Michael seemed to have walked straight out of her life, and she was too proud--and too much hurt--to inquire amongst her friends for news of him. It was her G.o.dmother who finally tersely enlightened her as to his whereabouts.

Characteristically, Lady Arabella had withheld her judgment regarding the Kit Raynham affair until it was found that he had betaken himself off to Australia. But when the whole of the facts were evident, she allowed nothing--neither the romantic dreams of the episode nor her own warm affection for her G.o.d-daughter--to obscure her clear-sighted vision.

Magda twisted her slim shoulders irritably when taken to task.

"I think I'm tired of being blamed for Kit Raynham's idiocy," she said, a note of resentment in her voice. "No one seems to consider my side of the question! I was merely nice to him in an ordinary sort of way, and there wasn't the least need for him to have chucked up everything and rushed off to the other side of the world like that. _I_ couldn't help it!"

Lady Arabella made a gesture of despair.

"I don't believe you could," she acknowledged helplessly. "I'm really beginning to have a sneaking sympathy with poor Hugh for shelving the responsibility of having brought you into the world. But at least you might refrain from baby-s.n.a.t.c.hing!" she added wrathfully.

Magda protested.

"Marraine! You're abominable! Kit is four-and-twenty if he's a day. And I'm barely twenty."

"That has nothing whatever to do with it," retorted Lady Arabella incisively. "Kit is a babe in arms, while you--you're as old as Eve."

She paused. "Anyway, you've broken his heart and driven him to the ends of the earth."

"Where he'll probably paste together the pieces and offer the repaired article to someone else."

Lady Arabella looked up sharply. Cynicism was usually far enough away from Magda. She was too full of the joy of life and of the genuine delight an artist finds in his art to have place for it. Egoist she might be, with the unthinking egotism of youth, irresponsible in her gay acceptance of the love and admiration showered on her, but there was nothing bitter or sour in her composition. Lady Arabella, seeking an explanation for the unwonted, cast her mind back on the events of the last few weeks--and smiled to herself.

"I suppose you know you've driven someone else out of England besides Kit Raynham?" she said.

"Whom do you mean?"

Magda spoke mechanically. A faint colour crept up under her white skin, and she avoided her G.o.dmother's keen gaze.

"That charming artist-man--Michael Quarrington."

"Has--he left England?" Magda's throat felt suddenly parched. Then with an effort she went on: "You're surely not going to put the entire steamship's pa.s.senger list down to me, Marraine?"

"Only those names for which I happen to know you're responsible."

"You don't know about Saint Mi--about Mr. Quarrington. It's mere guesswork on your part."

"Most of the things we really know in life are mere guesswork," replied Lady Arabella sagely. "But in this case----"

"Yes. In this case?"

There was a long pause. Then Lady Arabella answered slowly:

"In this case I'm speaking from first-hand information."

Magda's slender figure tautened. She moistened her lips.