Ah!  He was at the door!  She heard a hand feeling along the panels, heard the handle turn!  As one paralyzed she sat and waited.

Softly the door opened.

“Allegro!” whispered a hushed voice.

Olga turned swiftly with outflung arms.  “Oh, come in, dear!  Come in!  I’ve had such a ghastly dream!  You’ve come just in the nick of time.”

Softly the door closed.  Violet came to her, wonderful in the moonlight, a white mystery with shining eyes.  She stood beside the bed, suffering herself to be clasped in her friend’s arms.

“What have you been dreaming about?” she said.

“Oh, sheer nonsense of course,” said Olga, hugging her in sheer relief.  “All about that hateful Hunt-Goring man.  Get into bed beside me and help me to forget him!”

But Violet remained where she was.

“Allegro,” she said, “I’ve had—­a bad dream—­too.”

“Have you, dear?  How horrid!” said the sympathetic Olga.  “What can we both have had for supper, I wonder?”

Violet uttered a hard little laugh.  “Oh, it wasn’t that!  I haven’t been asleep at all.  I generally do sleep after Hunt-Goring’s cigarettes.  But to-night I couldn’t.  They only seemed to make things worse.”  She sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed.  “Don’t cuddle me, Allegro!  I’m so hot.”

Olga leaned back on her pillows, with a curious sense of something gone wrong.  “Shall I light a candle?” she said.

“No.  It’s light enough.  I hate an artificial glare, Allegro!”

“Well, dear?” said Olga gently.

Violet was sitting with her back to the moonlight, her face in deep shadow.  Her black hair was loosely tied back and hung below her waist.  Olga stretched out a hand and touched the silken ripples caressingly.

Violet threw back her head restlessly.  “I’m going to give up Hunt-Goring,” she said.

“My dear, I am glad!” said Olga fervently.

Violet laughed again.  “I only encouraged him for the sake of his cigarettes.  But I’m going to give up them too.  The opium habit grows on one so.”

“Opium!” echoed Olga sharply.

“Opium, dear child!  It’s a cunning mixture and most seductive.  The astute Max little knew what he was inhaling this afternoon.”  Violet’s words had a curious tremor in them as of semi-tragic mirth.

Olga listened in horrified silence.  So this was the secret of Max’s peculiar behaviour!  If he did not know by this time, then she did not know Max Wyndham.

“Yes,” Violet went on.  “Hunt-Goring is counting on those cigarettes of his to get me under his influence.  I know.  But I’m tired to death of the man.  I’m going to pass him on to you.”

“I hate him!” said Olga quickly.

“Oh, yes, dear!  But he has his points.  You’ll find he can be quite amusing.  Anyhow, take him off my hands for a spell.  It isn’t fair to make me do all your entertaining.”