“Lemon?” he asked briefly.

“No, thanks.  I’ll have a plain soda.  And if you’ve no objection we will thresh this matter out at once as I have to be off in ten minutes.  I suppose you took in what I said just now?”

Noel held out a glass to him, his brown hand not quite steady.  “May as well be explicit,” he said gruffly.

“Quite so.  Then my engagement to Olga Ratcliffe is at an end.  Is that plain enough for you?”

Again the boy’s eyes glanced upwards, meeting the imperturbable green eyes opposite for the fraction of a second.  “Really?” he said.

“Yes, really.”  Max took a slow gulp from his glass and set it down.  “Pleased?” he enquired.

Noel did not answer.  His own drink remained untouched at his elbow.  “Whose doing is it?” he enquired.

“Hers.”

“What!  Doesn’t she care for you after all?” There was a sudden quiver in the question that belied the studied calm of the speaker.

Max took up his glass and drank again.  “She can’t stand me at any price,” he said.

“Then what have you been doing?” There was no attempt to disguise the fierceness of the query.  Noel started forward in his chair with hands clenched, and his dog slid to the ground.

“Take it easy!” said Max.  “I’m not going to let you into that secret.  It wouldn’t be good for your morals.  Besides, there’s no time to go into that now.  All I want to say to you is that there’s a clear road in front of you and the odds are all in your favour.  Go straight and I believe you’ll win!”

Noel leaned nearer.  His face was a curious blend of eagerness and resentment.  “Do you mean—­you’ve found out—­that she’d sooner have me after all?” he blurted out.

Max looked at him, and a queer, half-pitying smile curved his grim mouth.  “Yes, I suppose it amounts to that,” he said, after a moment.

“Oh, I say!” said Noel.

He got up abruptly, and walked to the end of the room.  Coming back, he gave a sharp gasp as of one rising from deep water, and the next moment very suddenly he laughed.

“I say,” he said again, speaking jerkily, “is it the sun—­or what?  I feel as if—­you’d hit me between the eyes.”

Max nodded towards the table.  “Have your drink, boy, and pull yourself together!  You haven’t won her yet, remember.  You’ve got some uphill work before you still.”

Noel stopped at the table, and raised his glass.  His hand shook palpably, and the smile on Max’s face became almost one of tenderness.  He watched him in silence as he drank, then lifted his own glass.

“Here’s to your success!” he said.

Noel’s eyes came down to him.  They had the rapt look of a man who sees a vision.  “Oh, man,” he suddenly exclaimed, “you don’t know how I worship her!”

And then abruptly he realized what he had said and to whom, and flushed darkly, averting his look.

Max got to his feet, and faced him across the table.  “You’ve got to worship her always,” he said, and in his voice there throbbed some remote echo as of an imprisoned passion deep in his hidden soul.  “She’ll need the utmost you can offer.”