“Violet dearest, how can you say so?”

“The truth, dear, I assure you.  I fell in love last winter when we were at Nice with a boy with the most romantic, heavenly eyes you ever saw—­an Italian.  And then he went and spoilt everything by falling in love with me.  I hated him then.  He became cheap and very nasty.  He only liked my outer covering too, and was not in the least interested in the creature that lived inside.”

“You apparently only cared for his eyes,” observed Olga.

“Yes, exactly, dear.  How clever you are!  I should like to have brought them away with me as trophies.  But he didn’t love me enough for that, and nothing else would have satisfied me.  Have you put that hateful, revolting book quite out of reach?  I think you had better.  If I get it again, you won’t take it away so easily a second time.”

“I can’t think what makes you like such beastly things,” said Olga, sitting down upon it firmly.

“Nor I, dear.  It’s just the way I’m made.  I don’t like them either.  I hate them.  That’s where the fascination comes in.  There!  Let me put on my hat, and I am ready.  I suppose I must veil myself?  We mustn’t dazzle the impressionable Max, must we?  He must accustom his sight to me gradually.  Never mind the rest of those things, Allegro!  Francoise can finish, and send them on by the luggage-cart in the evening.  Come along, let us face the dragon and get it over.”

She linked her arm in Olga’s once more, and drew her to the door.  Olga carried the book with her for safety, determined that her friend should feast no more on horrors.

“What a little tyrant you are!” laughed Violet.  “I am coming to protect you from the dragon, but I shall probably end by protecting the dragon from you.  Do you keep a censorious eye upon the literature he reads also?”

“I leave him quite alone,” said Olga, “unless he interferes with me.”

“Ah!  And then, I suppose, you scratch him heartily Poor young man!  But I should imagine he is quite capable of clipping your claws if they get in his way.  My dear, your fate will be no easy one.  I should begin to treat him kindly if I were you.”

“I shall never do that,” said Olga with conviction.

She was somewhat dismayed as they passed through the archway into the hall to find Max and his host still there; but as they were at the further end and apparently deeply engrossed in conversation, she decided that Violet’s gay remarks were scarcely likely to have made any impression, even if they had penetrated so far.

Both men looked up at their entrance, and Max at once moved to meet them.

“I’ve turned up again at risk of boring you, Miss Campion,” he observed.  “I chanced to find myself in this direction, so had to yield to the temptation of coming here.”

“Oh, don’t apologize!” laughed Violet, giving him two fingers.  “Of course, I know that it’s Bruce you come to see.  I wish you would prescribe him a temper tonic.  He needs one badly, don’t you, Bruce?  So Granny Stubbs has given you the slip, has she?  How impertinent of her!  Aren’t you very angry?”