His eyes flashed.
"Why are you making a mystery about it ?" he asked suspiciously.

"You're keeping something from me! Who was this man?
Tell me his name." Magda froze.
"My dear Antoine! Why this air of high tragedy ?" she said lightly.

"And what on earth has it to do with you who the man was ?" "You know what it has to do with me----" "With my accompanist ?"--raising her brows delicately.
"No!"-- with sudden violence--"With the man who loves you! I'm that--and you know it, Magda! Could I play for you as I do if I did not understand your every mood and emotion?
You know I couldn't! And then you ask what it matters to me when some unknown man has held you in his arms, carried you into his house--kissed you, perhaps, while you were unconscious!"-- his imagination running suddenly riot.
"Stop! You're going too far!" Magda checked him sharply.

"You're always telling me you love me.

I don't want to hear it." She paused, then added cruelly: "I want you for playing my accompaniments, Davilof.