“She will only urge me to give up the idea all
the time,” protested Magda. “And
I’ve quite made up my mind. The sooner I
can get away from—from everything”—looking
round her with desperate, haunted eyes—“the
better it will be.”
Gillian’s impulse to combat her decision to
rejoin the sisterhood died on her lips stillborn.
It was useless to argue the matter. There was
only one person in the world who could save Magda from
herself, and that was Michael. The main point
was to concentrate on getting him back to England,
rather than waste her energies upon what she knew beforehand
must prove a fruitless argument.
“I’ll go to Marraine for a couple of nights,
anyway,” said Magda at last. “After
that, I want to make arrangements for my reception
into the sisterhood.”
Gillian returned no answer. She felt her heart
contract at the quiet decision in Magda’s voice,
but she pinned her faith on Lady Arabella’s
ability to hold her, somehow, till she herself had
accomplished her errand to Paris.
AGAINST TIME
Gillian, dashing headlong into Victoria Station, encountered
Storran sauntering leisurely out of it, a newspaper
under his arm.
“Where are you off to?” he demanded, stopping
abruptly. “You look as if you were in a
hurry.”
“I am. Don’t stop me. I’m
catching the boat-train.”
Storran pulled out his watch as he turned and fell
into step beside her.
“Then you’ve got a good half-hour to spare.
No hurry,” he returned placidly.
Gillian glanced at the watch on her wrist.
“Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully.
“If so, my watch must be altogether wrong!”
“Unbeliever! Come and look at the clock.
And, incidentally, give me that suit-case.”
She yielded up the case obediently and, having verified
the time, proceeded towards the platform at a more
reasonable gait.
Storran, his long legs leisurely keeping pace with
her shorter ones, smiled down at her.
“And now, for the second time of asking, where
are you off to?”
“I’m going to France—to fetch
Michael.”
He gave a quick exclamation—whether of
surprise or disapproval she was not quite sure.
“You haven’t heard from him, then?”
“No. And unless something happens quick,
it will be too late.”
“But if he were at his studio he would surely
have answered Lady Arabella’s letter.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Gillian absently,
her eyes following the queue of passengers passing
through the gate on the platform. By mutual consent
they had come to a standstill outside it.
“Then if he isn’t there, what’s
the use of your rushing over to Paris?” protested
Storran. “It’s absurd—an
absolute wild-goose chase. You can’t go!”
Gillian’s brown eyes came back to his face.
