He smiled a little, the superior, one-sided smile she most detested. 
“You mustn’t let the fruit go bad,” he observed, “after all my trouble.”

Olga peered into the coffee-urn, without replying.  Max in an exasperating mood could be very exasperating indeed.  He pulled out the chair next to her, and sat down.

“And how is the beautiful Miss Campion?” he said.

Olga looked at him.  She could not help it.

“Well?” said Max.

She coloured hotly.  “I wonder you haven’t been to see for yourself,” she said.

“Perhaps I have,” said Max.

She turned from his open scrutiny, and began to pour out the coffee with a hand not wholly steady.

“I presume—­if you had—­you wouldn’t ask me,” she said.

He lodged his chin on his hand, the better to study her.  “In making that presumption, fair lady,” he said, “you are not wholly justified.  Has it never occurred to you that I might entertain a certain veneration for your opinion on a limited number of subjects?”

Olga set down the coffee-urn and squarely turned upon him.  “Have you seen her this morning?” she asked him point-blank.

“Yes, I have seen her,” he said.

“Then you know as much as I do,” said Olga.

“Not quite,” he returned.  “I soon shall however.  Did she seem pleased to see you this morning?”

“Of course,” said Olga.

“And why ‘of course’?  Do you never disagree?” He asked the question banteringly, yet his eyes were still upon her, unflaggingly intent.

“We never quarrel,” said Olga.

“I see.  You have differences of opinion; is that it?  And what happens then?  Is there never a tug of war?” Max’s smile became speculative.

“No, never,” said Olga.

“Never?” He raised his red brows incredulously.  “Do you mean to say you give in to her at every turn?  She can be fairly exacting, I should imagine.”

“I would give her anything she really wanted if it lay in my power,” said Olga very steadily.

“Would you?” said Max.  He suddenly ceased to smile.  “Even if it chanced to be something you wanted rather badly yourself?”

She nodded.  “Wouldn’t you do as much for someone you loved?”

“That depends,” said Max cautiously.

“Oh, of course!” said Olga quickly.  “You’re a man!”

He laughed.  “You’ve made that remark before.  I assure you I can’t help it.  No, I certainly wouldn’t place all my possessions at the disposal of even my best friend.  There would always be—­reservations.”

He looked at her with a smile in his eyes, but Olga did not respond to it.  An inner voice had suddenly warned her to step warily.  She took up the coffee-urn again.

“I wouldn’t give much for that kind of friendship,” she said.

“But is it always in one’s power to pass on one’s possessions?” questioned Max.  “I maintain that the possessions are entitled to a voice in the matter.”