Nick was silent.

After a moment Max glanced round at him.  “You wouldn’t, I suppose?”

“No,” said Nick.

“You would marry her regardless of the consequences?”

“If I were an ordinary man—­perhaps,” said Nick.  “If I were a doctor—­” he paused—­“if I were a doctor, Max,” he said again with a sudden smile, “I think I should tackle the situation from another standpoint.  Either way, if she loved me and I loved her, I would marry her.  As to the consequences—­there wouldn’t be any.”

Max grunted.  “Of course you are the exception to every rule.”

“Who told you that?” thrust in Nick.

“It’s been dinned into me ever since I met you.”  Half-churlishly Max made reply, and turning fell to pacing the room with the measured tread of one trained to step warily.

“And you believe it?” Nick leaned back in his chair peering forth through eyes half-closed.

“I do—­more or less.”

“Thanks!” said Nick.  “And how goes the courtship?”

Max frowned heavily, without speaking.

“Pardon my asking,” said Nick, “and consider the question answered!”

Max stopped squarely in front of him.  “It doesn’t go,” he said briefly.

Nick’s glance darted over him for an instant.  “What method have you been employing?  Coercion?  Persuasion?  Indifference?  Or strategy?”

Max’s hands showed clenched inside his pockets.  “I’m leaving her alone,” he growled.

“Then change your tactics at once!” said Nick.  “Try an advance!”

“That’s just the mischief.  In the present damnable state of affairs, I am powerless.  Violet Campion is hating me pretty badly, and—­she—­is thinking it clever to follow suit.  She is avoiding me like the plague.”

“That’s sometimes a good sign,” said Nick thoughtfully.

“Not in this case.  It only means she is afraid of me.”

Nick’s glance flashed up at him again.  “For any special reason?”

“I have given her none.”

“Violet again?” queried Nick.

“Probably.”

Nick ruminated.  “You don’t think it advisable to tell her how things are?”

“I?” The brief word sounded almost hostile.  Max resumed his pacing on the instant.  “I’m not an utter brute, Ratcliffe,” he said, “whatever I may appear.”

Nick sent a cloud of smoke upwards.  “Would you call me a brute if I told her?” he asked.

“Yes, I should.”  Curt and prompt came the answer.  “What is more, I won’t have it done.”

“She is a sensible little soul,” contended Nick.

“She may be.  But it would increase the difficulties a hundredfold.  The girl herself would probably suspect something, and that would almost inevitably precipitate matters.  No, the only possible course is to leave things alone for the present.  The symptoms are slight, and though it is impossible to say from moment to moment what will happen, the chances are that if we can keep Hunt-Goring from doing any further mischief, the disease may remain in a stationary condition for some time.  In that case you may manage to get Olga away on this tom-fool expedition of yours to India before any serious development takes place.”