Somehow she had never imagined that behind the worldly-wise old woman's sharp speeches and grim, ironic humour there lay the half-buried memory of some far-distant romance.

Yet now in the uneven tones of her voice she recognised the throb of an old wound.
"And meanwhile"-- Lady Arabella suddenly resumed in her usual curt manner--"meanwhile you might play fair with one or two of those boys you have trailing around--Kit Raynham for instance." "I don't understand," began Magda.
"You understand perfectly.

A man of the world's fair game.

He can look after himself--and probably sizes you up for what you are--a phenomenally successful dancer, who regards her little court of admirers as one of the commonplaces of existence--like her morning cup of tea.
But these boys--they look upon you as a woman, even a possible wife.

And then they proceed to fall in love with you!" Magda's foot tapped impatiently on the floor.
"What's this all leading up to ?" Lady Arabella met her glance squarely.
"I want you to leave Kit Raynham alone.