“I don’t profess to be infallible,” he said.  “But there certainly seems to be just a chance that the sight has not been absolutely destroyed.  I’m afraid you’ll have a good deal to go through if it is to be restored, though.  It will be a tough job for all concerned.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that,” said Noel sturdily.  “I’ve the very best of reasons for sticking to it.”

“Ah!” said Max, with his twisted smile.  “I haven’t congratulated you yet.”

Noel turned with a quick movement.  “I say, Max,” he said, with a touch of embarrassment, “you weren’t quite straight with me over that, were you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Max in a voice that was utterly devoid of expression.

Noel’s face was red, but he stuck to his point.  “You didn’t tell me why she broke with you,” he said.

“Who did?” demanded Max.

“Hunt-Goring.”

Max swallowed a remark which sounded more savage suppressed than if it had been fully audible.

“You had a row with him then?”

“Yes, I did.  I couldn’t help it.  I told him it was a damned lie,” said Noel.

Max grunted.

Noel proceeded with a hint of that doggedness that characterized them both.  “After that, I saw Olga; it was before we got engaged.  And I told her it was a lie too.”

Max grunted again, stubbornly refraining from question or comment.

Noel, equally stubborn, continued.  “She said it was the truth—­said you had admitted it to her.  I didn’t—­quite—­believe it even then.  Thinking about it since, I am pretty sure you didn’t do actually that.  Or if you did, it was a lie.”

Max maintained an uncompromising silence.

Noel waited a moment, then squarely tackled him.  “Max, why did you lie to her?”

“And if I didn’t?” said Max very deliberately.

Noel made instant and winning reply.  “Oh, you needn’t ask me to believe that tomfool tale, old chap!  I know you too well for that.”

“All right,” said Max.  “Then you know quite as much as is good for you.  If you want to be ready in time to meet your fiancee, you had better let Kersley’s man lend you a hand with your dressing.  I will send him to you.”

He was at the door with the words.  Noel heard him open it and go out.  He sat where Max had left him with a puzzled frown between his brows.

“I wish I knew the fellow’s game,” he murmured.  “I wish—­”

He broke off.  What was the good of wishing?  Moreover, to be quite honest, perhaps he was more or less satisfied with things as they were.  Max had probably got over his disappointment to a certain extent by this time.  It was quite obvious that he had no desire or intention to reopen the matter.  No, on the whole perhaps it was indiscreet to probe too deeply.  Every man had a right to his own secrets.  And meantime, Olga was his—­was his, and there remained this glorious possibility that his sight might be restored also.