Lady Arabella met her glance squarely.

"I want you to leave Kit Raynham alone. His mother has been to
me--Magda, I'm sick of having their mothers come to me!--and begged
me to interfere. She says you're ruining the boy's prospects. He's a
brilliant lad, and they expect him to do something rather special. And
now he's slacking completely. He's always on your doorstep. If you care
about him--do you, Magda?--tell him so. But, if you don't, for goodness'
sake send him about his business."

She waited quietly for an answer. Magda slipped into a big fur-coat and
caught up her gloves. Then she turned to her godmother abruptly.

"Lady Raynham is absurd. I can't prevent Kit's making a fool of himself
if he wants to. And--and"--rather helplessly--"I can't help it if I
don't fall in love to order." She kissed her godmother lightly. "So
that's that."

A minute later Lady Arabella's butler had swung open the front door, and
Magda crossed the pavement and entered her waiting car.

Outside, the fog hung like a thick pall over London--thick enough to
curtain the windows of the car with a blank, grey veil and to make
progress through the streets a difficult and somewhat dangerous process.
Magda snuggled into her furs and leant back against the padded cushions.
All sight of the outside world was cut off from her, except for the
blurred gleam of an occasional street-lamp or the menacing shape of a
motor-bus looming suddenly alongside, and she yielded herself to the
train of thought provoked by her talk with Lady Arabella.