“Quite so, fair lady, I did,” he responded imperturbably.  “But as this affair has developed into something of the nature of a duel between the gallant major and myself it might be as well, for your sake as much as mine, that I should know what sort of ground I am standing on.”

“A duel!” echoed Olga.

He smiled a little.  “Hunt-Goring has no intention of letting you stay engaged to me if he can by any means prevent it.”

“Oh, Max!” She met his look for an instant.  “But—­but—­what can it really matter to him—­one way or the other?”

“I conclude he wants you for himself,” said Max.

She turned suddenly white.  “He doesn’t!  He couldn’t!  Max!” She turned to him almost imploringly.  “He doesn’t really want me!  It’s not possible!”

“I should say he wants you very much indeed,” said Max.  “But you needn’t be scared on that account.  He isn’t going to have you.”

That reassured her somewhat.  She essayed a shaky laugh.  “You’ll think me a shocking coward,” she said.  “But—­do you know, I’m horribly frightened at him.”

“Are you frightened at me too?” Max enquired unexpectedly.

She shook her head without looking at him.

“Quite sure?” he persisted.

She raised her eyes with a feeling that he must be convinced of this at all costs.  “Of course I’m not,” she said.

He leaned down towards her on one elbow, his hands still deep in his pockets.  “Will you be engaged to me in earnest then?” he said.  “Will you marry me?”

She stared at him.  “Max!”

The humorous corner of his mouth went up.  “Don’t let me take your breath away!  I say, what’s the matter?  You’re as white as a ghost.  Do you want some sal volatile?”

She forced a rather piteous smile.  “No—­no!  I’m quite all right.  But, Max—­”

He pulled one hand free and laid it upon her clasped ones.  “You can’t stand me at any price, eh?”

She shook her head again.  “Are you suggesting that I should—­marry you, just to get away from Major Hunt-Goring?”

“I suppose you would rather marry me than him,” said Max.

She laughed faintly.  Her eyes were upon his hand—­that hand which she had so ruthlessly stabbed not so very long before.  The red scar yet remained.  For the first time she felt genuinely sorry for having inflicted it.

“But there is no question of my marrying him, is there?” she said at last.  “He has never even hinted at such a thing.”

“That’s true,” said Max grimly.  “You see, he has begun to realize by this time that you are not precisely fond of him.”

She shivered involuntarily.  “I hate him, Max!”

“He thrives on that,” observed Max drily.

“Oh, not really!” she protested.  “He couldn’t want to marry me against my will.”

“My good child,” said Max, “if you had had the bad taste to flirt with him, he would have tired of you long ago.  As it is—­” he paused.