She wasn't frightened any longer.

Davilof was no more the man whose sudden passion had surged about her, threatening to break down all defences and overwhelm her.
He was just Davilof, her accompanist, who, like half the men of her acquaintance, was more or less in love with her and who had overstepped the boundary which she had very definitely marked out between herself and him.
She regarded him stormily.
"Have you gone mad ?" she asked contemptuously.
He returned her look, his eyes curiously brilliant.

Then he laughed suddenly.
"Mad ?" he said.

"Yes, I think I _am_ mad.

Mad with love for you! Magda"-- he came and stood close beside her--"don't send me away! Don't say you can't care for me! You don't love me now--but I could teach you." His voice deepened.