“I see,” said Nick.  “And you are convinced that a serious development is inevitable?”

“Absolutely.”  Max came strolling back from the window with eyes fixed and far-seeing.  “It is as plain as a pike-staff to any professional man.  Kersley detected it at once—­as I knew he would; and that was before the midnight episode in Olga’s room.  Yes, it’s bound to come.  It may be gradual.  It may even take the form of paralysis.  But with her temperament I don’t think that very likely.  It will probably come suddenly as a sequel to some shock or violent agitation.  But come—­sooner or later—­it must.”

He spoke slowly, with the deliberation of absolute certainty.  Reaching the mantelpiece he lodged himself against it and smoked with his eyes on the ceiling.

Nick watched him with a veiled scrutiny from the depths of his chair.  “So that is the verdict,” he said at last.

Max nodded without speaking.

“And how long have you known?”

“About a month.”

“But you knew them before then?”

Max looked down at him with a slight gesture that passed unexplained.  “As long as I have known the Ratcliffes,” he said.

“It must have been something of a shock to you,” suggested Nick.

Max’s jaw hardened.  “I was infinitely more interested in her when I knew,” he said.

“Really?” said Nick.

“Yes, really.”  Max spoke with finality.  “I assure you I am not impressionable,” he added a moment later with the cynical twist of the lips that Olga knew so well.  “And I never play with fire.  That form of amusement doesn’t attract me.”

A sudden humorous glitter shone between Nick’s half-closed eyelids.  “But even serious people burn their fingers sometimes,” he observed.  “I presume you haven’t proposed yet?”

“Yes, I have.”  Max spoke with dogged assertiveness.

Nick jerked upright.  “The deuce you have!”

“You needn’t excite yourself,” Max assured him grimly.  “We are not officially engaged yet—­or likely to be.  You needn’t stick your spoke in.  She knows I shan’t marry her against her will.”

“Oh, that’s settled, is it?” Nick’s eyes flashed over him with lightning rapidity.

“It is.”  Max began to smile.  “And the marriage will take place some time before the end of next year.”

The door opened abruptly while he was speaking, but he finished his sentence with extreme deliberation in spite of the fact that it was Olga who entered,—­Olga, flushed and eager, vivid, throbbing with excitement.  If she heard his words she paid no heed to them, but broke at once into breathless speech.

“Oh, Nick, it’s the post!  It’s the post!  A letter from Dad and another from Muriel; both for you!”

Nick stretched out his hand to her.  “Come over here, kiddie!  We’ll read them together.”

She sprang to him, knelt beside him, and warmly hugged him.  Max remained propped against the mantelpiece, looking on, ignored by both.