Her small soul was aflame with fierce revolt.
Just to assure herself of the liberty of the individual and of the fact that "hurting couldn't make her good," she executed a solitary little dance on the green, mossy sward beneath the trees.

It was rather a painful process, since certain portions of her anatomy still tingled from the retributive strokes of justice, but she set her teeth and accomplished the dance with a consciousness of unholy glee that added appreciably to the quality of the performance.
"Are you the Fairy Queen ?" The voice came suddenly out of the dim, enfolding silence of the woods, and Magda paused in the midst of a final pirouette.

A man was standing leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching her with whimsical grey eyes.

Behind him, set up in the middle of a clearing amongst the trees, an easel and stool evidenced his recent occupation.
Magda returned the scrutiny of the grey eyes.

She was no whit embarrassed and slowly lowered her foot--she had been toe-dancing--to its normal position while she surveyed the newcomer with interest.
He was a tall, lean specimen of mankind, and the sunlight, quivering between the interlacing boughs above his head, flickered on to kinky fair hair that looked almost absurdly golden contrasted with the brown tan of the face beneath it.