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She went often to see Paul Martens. Perhaps she was anxious to prove that she did not forget so easily as Rosing had supposed.

"You see," said Martens, "I was right when I told you that you would escape from Bruges."

"But I've not escaped, since I've married Rosing."

"Oh, yes, you have escaped. And Rosing, too, through you. You're a fairy, Lina, as we always told you in the old days. One whisk of your wand, one flutter of your wings, and you'11 fly away, for ever this time. And by some process of spells and enchantment with which I'm not conversant, you'11 take Rosing with you. Lucky Rosing!"

"You always said that he was in love with me," Lina recollected.

"Yes. But I never said that you were in love with him."

She evaded this.

"Will you ever come and see me dance in Brussels?"

"I will, Lina. And I'll send you flowers. But I won't come round and pester you to have supper with me after your triumphs."

"Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't come."

"Now that's not true!" Lina protested with indignation.

"You would be very silly if you did," Martens explained negligently. "What possible use could a young and brilliant ballerina find for an ill-tempered, elderly and obscure artist of uncertain temper? Don't be a little fooi, Lina. You can't afford to be sentimental if you wish to succeed."

"You are all the same, you and Rosing," Lina complained, "you both think that I have no heart."

He looked at her queerly.

"So Rosing thinks that, does he? Well, he has only