“I don’t know quite how you managed it,” he commented.  “However, we are none of us infallible.  Now tell me—­without reservation—­exactly what passed this morning between you two girls and Hunt-Goring.”

With quivering lips she began to tell him.  There were certain items of that conversation with Hunt-Goring, of which, though they were branded deep upon her mind, she could not bring herself to speak.  It was a difficult recital in any case, and the grim silence with which he listened did not make it any easier.

“Have you told me everything?” he asked at last.

She answered steadily.  “Everything that concerns Violet!”

He looked at her very closely for a few moments, and she saw his mouth take a cynical, downward curve.

“Hunt-Goring has my sympathy,” he observed enigmatically.  “Well, I think you are right.  I had better keep out of the way for the present.  I shall know better what course to take in the morning.  Her state of mind just now is quite abnormal, but she may very well have settled down a little by that time.  She will probably go through a stage of lethargy and depression after this.  Her brother should be back again in a week’s time.  We may manage to ward off another outbreak till then.  But, mind, you are not to be left alone with her during any part of that week.  There must always be someone within call.”

“I shall be within call,” said Nick.

Max glanced at him.  “Yes, you will be quite useful no doubt.  But I must have a nurse as well.”

“A nurse!” exclaimed Olga.

He looked back at her.  “You don’t seriously suppose I am going to leave you and Mrs. Briggs—­and Nick—­in sole charge?”

“But, Max,” she protested, almost incoherent in her dismay, “she will be herself again to-morrow or the next day!  This isn’t going to last!”

“What do you mean?” he said.

She controlled herself with a sharp effort, warned of the necessity to do so by his tone.

“I mean that—­hysteria—­isn’t a thing that lasts long as a rule.”

“It isn’t hysteria,” he said.

She flinched in spite of herself.  “But you think she will get better?” she urged.

He was silent a moment, looking at her.  “I will tell you exactly what I think, Olga,” he said then, in a tone that was utterly different from any he had used to her before.  “For you certainly ought to know now.  The tale you heard this morning was true—­every word of it.  I heard it myself from Bruce Campion and also from Kersley Whitton.  Kersley was engaged to marry her mother when he detected in her a tendency to madness which he afterwards discovered to be an hereditary taint in her family.  It is a disease of the brain which is absolutely incurable.  It is in fact a peculiarly rapid decay caused by a kind of leprous growth which nothing can arrest.  In some cases it causes total paralysis of every faculty almost at the outset, in others there may be years of violent mania before the inevitable paralysis sets in.  Either way it is quite incurable, and if it takes the form of madness it is only intermittent for the first few weeks.  There are no lucid intervals after that.”