There was something very charming in her expression of eager, light-hearted abandonment to the fun of the moment.
At the sound of the opening door Coppertop wriggled out of her grasp like an eel, twisting his lithe young body round to see who the new arrival might be.

His face fell woefully as he caught sight of Davilof.
"Oh, you can't _never_ have come already to play for the Fairy Lady!" he exclaimed in accents of dire disappointment.
"Fairy Lady" was the name he had bestowed upon Magda when, very early in their acquaintance, she had performed for his sole and particular benefit a maturer edition of the dance she had evolved as a child--the dance with which she had so much astonished Lady Arabella.

Nowadays it figured prominently on her programmes as "The Hamadryad," and was enormously popular.
"It's not never three o'clock!" wailed Coppertop disconsolately, as Davilof dangled his watch in front of him.
"I think it is, small son," interpolated Gillian, gathering together her sewing materials.

"Come along.

We must leave the Fairy Lady to practise now, because she's got to dance to half the people in London to-morrow." "Must I really go ?" appealed Coppertop, beseeching Magda with a pair of melting green eyes.
She dropped a light kiss on the top of his red curls.
"'Fraid so, Coppertop," she said.