You know, dancing appeals to me in a way that nothing else does.

My job's painting--" "House-painting ?" interpolated Magda with a smile.

Her spirits were rising a little under his new kindliness of manner.
He laughed with sudden boyishness and nodded gaily.
"Why, yes--so long as people continue to cover their wall-space with portraits of themselves." Magda wondered whether he was possibly a well-known painter.

But he gave her no chance to find out, for he continued speaking almost at once.
"I love my art--but a still, flat canvas, however beautifully painted, isn't comparable with the moving, living interpretation of beauty possible to a dancer.

I remember, years ago--ten years, quite--seeing a kiddy dancing in a wood." Magda leaned forward.