Someone laughed a little, softly.

"Oh, yes, she's a rich enough young lady, Mrs. Braithwaite. Don't you
know who it is we've rescued?"

"I, sir? No. How should I?"

"Then I'll tell you. This is Mademoiselle Wielitzska, the famous
dancer."

"Never, sir! Well, I do declare----"

"Now, drink this at once, please." The man's voice cut sharply across
the impending flow of garrulous interest, and Magda, who had not
gathered the actual sense of the murmured conversation, felt an arm pass
behind her head, raising it a little, while once more that hateful glass
of sal volatile was held to her lips.

Her eyes unclosed fretfully.

"Take it away," she was beginning.

"Drink it! Do you hear? Do as you're told!"

The sharp, authoritative tones startled her into sudden compliance. She
opened her mouth and swallowed the contents of the glass with a gulp.
Then she looked resentfully at the man whose curt command she had obeyed
in such unexpected fashion. Magda Wielitzska was more used to giving
orders than to taking them.