“I am,” he said.

“Oh, well, that’s soon done,” she said, and raised the cup to her lips.

Max smoked on, taciturn and frowning.  Violet finished her tea, and asked for more.  He finished his cigarette and turned to her.

“I wonder if you would let me try one of yours.”

“Not now, I’m afraid,” she made answer.  “I left my case upstairs.”

He lighted another of his own and rose.

“Good-night!” said Nick.

“I shall be down to dinner,” Max responded gruffly, and sauntered away.

“Ill-tempered cuss!” said Nick.  “What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s jealous,” said Violet.

“Of whom?” Nick was frankly curious.

“Of Major Hunt-Goring.  He’s been dangling after me half the afternoon.  How would you like me to marry him, Allegro?”

“Who?” said Olga, turning crimson.

“Oh, not Max, you may be sure!” Her friend laughed mischievously.  “Max is only an interlude.”

“And Hunt-Goring the main theme?” suggested Nick.

She laughed again indifferently.  “Perhaps, I can’t say I’m enamoured of him, though.  He’s rather a brute at heart, underneath the oil-silk.  Well, I’m going to lie in the hammock and sleep.”

She got up, stretched luxuriously, and strolled away over the grass.

Nick watched her go with flickering, observant eyes; but he made no comment upon her.  Only as she passed from sight, he made an odd little grimace as if dismissing a slightly distasteful subject from his mind.  Then he turned to his niece.

“Well, my chicken, you’ve had a busy afternoon.”

“A beastly afternoon, Nick!” she responded warmly.  “And I’m very glad it’s over, and I don’t want to talk about it.  Tell me about your doings instead!  What were you wanted for?”

“Prepare for a shock!” said Nick.  “I haven’t got over it myself yet.  They want to pack me off to India again.  I told ’em I couldn’t go, but they seem to take it for granted that I shall.  Don’t know what Muriel will say to it, I’m sure.  They say it would be only a six months’ job, but I have my doubts of that.”

“Nick!  India!”

“India, my child—­naked and unadulterated India!  The Imperial Commissioners have quite decided that I’m the man for the job.  I kept on saying ‘Can’t!’ and ‘Won’t!’ But that didn’t make the least difference.  Old Reggie Bassett’s doing, I’ll lay a wager.  He will have it that my genius is thrown away in England.  And they inform me rather brutally that my seat in Parliament would be far more easily filled than this Sharapura post.  Also the young Rajah has done me the honour to ask for me.  We went pig-sticking together once—­years ago, and I chanced to head off Piggie at a critical moment for young Akbar.  On the strength of that, he wants me to go and be his political adviser for a few months.  It seems the State is in rather a muddle.  His father was a shocking old shuffler, and there are plenty of budmashes about, if report says true.  But this young Rajah is anxious to get things straightened out, and the Commissioner wants a report made and so on.  Altogether,” Nick paused with a smile on his yellow face, “they were very persuasive,” he said.