"I'm not used to obeying orders," she said impatiently.

"No?"--with complete indifference. "Then it will be a salutary
experience for you. Now, lie still until tea comes. I have a letter to
write."

He walked away and, seating himself at a desk in the window, appeared to
forget all about her, while his pen travelled swiftly over the sheet of
notepaper he had drawn towards him.

Magda watched him with rebellious eyes. Gradually, however, the
rebellion died out of them, replaced by a puzzled look of interest.
There was something vaguely familiar about the man. Had she ever seen
him before? Or was it merely one of those chance resemblances which one
comes across occasionally? That fair hair with its crisp wave, the lean,
square-jawed face, above all, the dark-grey eyes with their bright,
penetrating glance--why did she feel as though every detail of the face
were already known to her?

She failed to place the resemblance, however, and finally, with a little
sigh of fatigue, she gave up the attempt. Her brain still felt muddled
and confused from the blow she had received. Perhaps later she would be
able to think things out more clearly.

Meanwhile she lay still, her eyes resting languidly on the face that
so puzzled her. It was not precisely a handsome face, but there was a
certain rugged fineness in its lines that lifted it altogether out
of the ruck of the ordinary. It held its contradictions, too.
Notwithstanding the powerful, determined jaw, the mouth had a sensitive
upward curve at the corners which gave it an expression of singular