“I’m bringing drinks,” said Max’s voice from the hall.  “I say, Ratcliffe,”—­he entered with the words—­“do go and dislodge that leech Goring.  He’s in the garden with Miss Campion.  Tell him I don’t want to see either him or his beastly thumb for a week.  I’ll call in next Sunday, if I’ve nothing better to do.  Say I’m engaged if he asks for me now.”

“I’ll say you’re dead if you like,” said Nick cheerily.  “Shall I say you’re dead too, Olga?”

“Say she’s engaged also,” said Max.

Olga glanced up sharply, but he was not looking at her.  He was occupied in pouring out a drink for his friend, which he brought to him almost immediately.

“That’s how you like it measured to a drop.  Sorry there’s no ice to be had.  It doesn’t grow in these parts.”

“I’d have got out the best glass if I’d known,” murmured Olga regretfully.

Max threw up his head and laughed.  “What a good thing I didn’t tell her, eh, Kersley?” He leaned a careless hand on Sir Kersley’s shoulder.  “She doesn’t know what a taste you have for the simple life.”

Olga’s eyes opened wide at the familiarity of speech and action.  Sir Kersley faintly smiled.

“Since Miss Ratcliffe received me so kindly as a friend of yours,” he said, “I hope she will continue to regard me in that light, and dispense with all unnecessary ceremony.  Miss Ratcliffe, I drink to our better acquaintance!”

“How nice of you!” said Olga.

“I return thanks on Miss Ratcliffe’s behalf,” said Max.  “How long has the Hunt-Goring monstrosity been here?”

Olga’s face clouded.  “Oh, ages!  Do you think Nick will persuade him to go?”

“He can’t stop to lunch if he isn’t asked,” said Max.

“An unwelcome visitor?” asked Sir Kersley.

“Yes, a neighbour of ours,” explained Olga.  “He lives about two miles away at a place called The Warren.  He is retired from the Army.  He shoots and hunts in the winter and loafs all the summer.”

“A very horrid man,” said Max with a twinkle.  “He broke his thumb the other day and we haven’t been quit of him since.  You see, Miss Ratcliffe has a most beautiful friend staying with her with whom we all fall in love at first sight.  Some of us fall out again and some of us don’t.  Hunt-Goring—­presumably—­belongs to the latter category.”

“And you?” asked Sir Kersley.

“Oh, I am too busy for frivolities of that sort,” said Max.  “My mind is entirely occupied with drugs.  Ask Miss Ratcliffe if it isn’t!”

Olga looked a little scornful.  It suddenly seemed to her that Max Wyndham required a snub.  She was spared the trouble of administering one, however, by the reappearance of the housemaid.

She rose.  “Do you want me, Ellen?”

“Oh, no, miss.  It’s all right,” was Ellen’s breezy reply.  “I only just come to say as it was Dr. Wyndham as brought in them raspberries—­early this morning.”