He forced a laugh.  “I know you would.  That’s just the damnable part of it.  Life is an infernal swindle, isn’t it?  It’s brimful of this sort of thing.”  He stood up with a jerk, and pulled himself together.  “Forgive me, Olga!  I didn’t mean to let off steam in this way.  I’m a selfish hound.  Forget it!  Only promise me that if you ever want a friend to turn to, you’ll turn to me.”

“Indeed I will!” she said very earnestly.

He held her hands very tightly for a moment and let them go; but they clung to his.  She looked up at him appealingly.

“Noel,” she said, with slight hesitation, “please—­for my sake—­be friendly with Max!”

He drew back instantly with a boyish gesture of distaste.  “Oh, all right,” he said.

She saw that he would not endure pressure on this point, and refrained from pursuing it; but his reception of her request was a disappointment to her.  Somehow she had come to expect greater things from Noel.

The rest of the evening slipped away magically.  She danced a great many dances without any sense of fatigue; but when it was all over at last a great weariness descended upon her.  She drove back with Max, so utterly spent that she could hardly speak.

Yet, as they entered Nick’s bungalow, she roused herself and turned to him with her own quick smile.  “It’s been the happiest evening of my life,” she said.

“Really!” said Max.

She slipped the cloak from her shoulders and went close to him.  The love in her eyes gave them a glory that was surely not of earth.  She took him by the shoulders, those clear, shining eyes raised to his.

“I’m afraid you’ve had a dull time,” she said.  “I hope you haven’t hated it.”

“Not at all,” said Max.

Yet a hint of cynicism still lingered about him as he said it.  He stood passive within her hold.

She pressed a little nearer to him.  “Max, you didn’t mind my giving all those dances to Noel?  You—­understood?”

He began to smile.  “My dear girl, yes!”

“You are sure?” she insisted.

He took her upraised face between his hands.  “I have always understood you,” he said.

“I can’t help being sorry for him, can I?” she said wistfully.

He bent and kissed her.  “It’s a wasted sentiment, my child; but if it pleases you to be sorry, I have no objection.”

“He is much nicer than you think,” she pleaded.

He laughed at that.  “I’ve known him from his cradle.  He’s a typical Wyndham, you know.  They are all charming in one sense, and all rotten in another.”

“Oh, Max!” she protested.

“I’m an exception,” he said; “neither charming nor rotten.  Now, my dear, since your estimable little chaperon has deserted you it’s up to me to send you to bed.  Do you want a drink before you go?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder.  “No, I don’t want anything.  I feel as if I had had too much already.  I don’t want to go to bed, Max.  I don’t want to end this perfect day.”