And scorch they did at a rate that made the sober Mitchel swear inarticulately almost throughout the journey.  They met with no mishap, however, and finally reached Weir flushed, dishevelled, but exultant.

Max came from the direction of the surgery as they entered.

“Can I speak to you a moment?” he said to Olga and drew her into her father’s little smoking-room at the side of the hall almost before the words were uttered.

Olga faced him with a racing heart, burningly reminiscent of the note she had left in his hat, the note she had asked him to ignore.

He must have seen her embarrassment, for his green eyes studied her without mercy; but when he spoke it was not upon the subject of her overture.

“Look here!” he said.  “Hunt-Goring is here.  Do you mind if I ask him to luncheon?”

The news was unexpected.  Olga gave a sharp, involuntary start.  “Major Hunt-Goring!” she stammered.  “Why—­what is he doing here?”

“He walked over with a broken thumb for me to mend,” said Max, still grimly watching her.  “It’s some way back to The Warren, and he’s a bit used up.  I fancy your father would make him lunch here under the circumstances, but you must do as you think best.  It’s not my house.”

The colour sank rapidly from Olga’s face under his look.  “Oh, Dr. Wyndham,” she said breathlessly, “do you think we need?”

He frowned at her agitation.  “Of course, we needn’t,” he said.  “If you don’t want him, he can go to ‘The Swan.’  He is in the surgery at the present moment.  I must go back and see how he is getting on.”

“Wait a moment!” Olga broke in rapidly.  “I—­I’m afraid you’re right.  Dad would certainly keep him.  Oh, why isn’t Nick here?  He needn’t have chosen to-day to break this thumb.”

“Kismet!” said Max, with a cynical lift of the shoulders.  “I gather you don’t like the man?”

She shrank at the question:  it was almost a shudder.  “No!”

He turned to the door.  “Well, pull yourself together.  I daresay he won’t eat you.  And you’ll have Miss Campion to protect you.  She would be proof against a dozen monsters.”

He cast her a glance with the words that made her aware of a certain not very abstruse meaning behind them.  Olga’s cheeks burned again.  Did he know, then?  Had he guessed why Violet was in the house?  Was that the reason of his curious vigilance, his guarded acceptance of her favours?  She was possessed by an almost overwhelming desire to know, and yet no words could she find in which to ask.

“Well?” said Max, pausing in the act of opening the door.  “You were going to say—­”

She raised her eyes with a conscious effort, and nerved herself to speak.

“Max,” she said desperately, “please don’t mind my asking!  It isn’t from idle curiosity.  Do you like her?” She saw the rough red brows go up, and swiftly repented her temerity.  “I only asked,” she faltered, “because—­”