“Well?” Max said again.  “It would be interesting to know why you asked.”

She compelled herself to answer him, or perhaps it was he who compelled.  In any case, with her head bent, her answer came.

“I had been thinking that perhaps you were getting fond of her, and—­and—­I should be sorry if that happened, because I know she isn’t in earnest.  I know she is only playing with you.”

The words ran cut in a whisper.  She dared not look at him.  She could only watch with fascinated eyes the brown fingers that gripped the door-knob.

“She has told you that?” asked Max.

She quivered at the question.  It was horribly difficult to answer.  “I know it is so,” she murmured.

She was thankful that he did not press her to be more explicit.  He stood for a moment in silence; then:  “Isn’t it possible,” he said in a very level tone, “for a woman to set out to catch a man and to end by being caught herself?”

“Not for Violet,” said Olga.

“I wonder,” said Max.

She looked up at him quickly, caught by something in his tone.  His eyes, alert and green, looked straight into hers.

“Did you really think I was falling in love with her?” he said.

Olga hesitated.

“She thinks so?” he questioned.

“Yes.”  Against her will she answered.  It was as if he wrung the word from her.

He smiled a grim smile.  “Many thanks for your warning!” he said.  “I take a deep interest in Miss Campion, as you seem to have divined.  But the danger of my falling a victim to her charms is very remote.  You need harbour no further anxieties on my account.”

He opened the door as he spoke, and Olga passed out, uncertain whether to be glad or sorry that she had brought herself to speak.

She went upstairs to Violet and acquainted her with the fact of Major Hunt-Goring’s presence and its cause.

“I do wish Nick had been here,” she said in conclusion.

“He may elect to stay for ever so long.  I don’t know what we shall do with him.”

Violet, however, was by no means dismayed by the prospect.  “Oh, I enjoy Major Hunt-Goring,” she said.  “You leave him to me.  I’ll entertain him.”

“Hateful man!” said Olga.

Whereat Violet laughed and pinched her cheek.  “You know you like him!”

“I detest him!” said Olga quickly.

It was certainly with no excess of cordiality that a few minutes later she greeted her guest.  He was standing in the hall with one arm in a sling when she and Violet descended the stairs, an immense man of about five-and-forty with a very decided military bearing and dark eyes of covert insolence.

Max was with him, and Olga experienced a very novel feeling of relief to see him there.  She advanced and shook hands with extreme frigidity.

“I am sorry you have had an accident,” she said.

“Very good of you,” said Major Hunt-Goring, his eyes boldly passing her to rest upon Violet.  “Managed to crack my thumb tinkering at my old motor.  Dr. Wyndham tells me that you have been kind enough to ask me to lunch.  How do you do, Miss Campion?  Charmed to meet you!  Someone told me you were yachting in the Atlantic.”