Max grunted. "Of course you are the exception to every rule."

"Who told you that?" thrust in Nick.

"It's been dinned into me ever since I met you." Half-churlishly Max made reply, and turning fell to pacing the room with the measured tread of one trained to step warily.

"And you believe it?" Nick leaned back in his chair peering forth through eyes half-closed.

"I do--more or less."

"Thanks!" said Nick. "And how goes the courtship?"

Max frowned heavily, without speaking.

"Pardon my asking," said Nick, "and consider the question answered!"

Max stopped squarely in front of him. "It doesn't go," he said briefly.

Nick's glance darted over him for an instant. "What method have you been employing? Coercion? Persuasion? Indifference? Or strategy?"

Max's hands showed clenched inside his pockets. "I'm leaving her alone,"

he growled.

"Then change your tactics at once!" said Nick. "Try an advance!"

"That's just the mischief. In the present d.a.m.nable state of affairs, I am powerless. Violet Campion is hating me pretty badly, and--she--is thinking it clever to follow suit. She is avoiding me like the plague."

"That's sometimes a good sign," said Nick thoughtfully.

"Not in this case. It only means she is afraid of me."

Nick's glance flashed up at him again. "For any special reason?"

"I have given her none."

"Violet again?" queried Nick.

"Probably."

Nick ruminated. "You don't think it advisable to tell her how things are?"

"I?" The brief word sounded almost hostile. Max resumed his pacing on the instant. "I'm not an utter brute, Ratcliffe," he said, "whatever I may appear."

Nick sent a cloud of smoke upwards. "Would you call me a brute if I told her?" he asked.

"Yes, I should." Curt and prompt came the answer. "What is more, I won't have it done."

"She is a sensible little soul," contended Nick.

"She may be. But it would increase the difficulties a hundredfold. The girl herself would probably suspect something, and that would almost inevitably precipitate matters. No, the only possible course is to leave things alone for the present. The symptoms are slight, and though it is impossible to say from moment to moment what will happen, the chances are that if we can keep Hunt-Goring from doing any further mischief, the disease may remain in a stationary condition for some time. In that case you may manage to get Olga away on this tom-fool expedition of yours to India before any serious development takes place."

"I see," said Nick. "And you are convinced that a serious development is inevitable?"

"Absolutely." Max came strolling back from the window with eyes fixed and far-seeing. "It is as plain as a pike-staff to any professional man.

Kersley detected it at once--as I knew he would; and that was before the midnight episode in Olga's room. Yes, it's bound to come. It may be gradual. It may even take the form of paralysis. But with her temperament I don't think that very likely. It will probably come suddenly as a sequel to some shock or violent agitation. But come--sooner or later--it must."

He spoke slowly, with the deliberation of absolute certainty. Reaching the mantelpiece he lodged himself against it and smoked with his eyes on the ceiling.

Nick watched him with a veiled scrutiny from the depths of his chair.

"So that is the verdict," he said at last.

Max nodded without speaking.

"And how long have you known?"

"About a month."

"But you knew them before then?"

Max looked down at him with a slight gesture that pa.s.sed unexplained.

"As long as I have known the Ratcliffes," he said.

"It must have been something of a shock to you," suggested Nick.

Max's jaw hardened. "I was infinitely more interested in her when I knew," he said.

"Really?" said Nick.

"Yes, really." Max spoke with finality. "I a.s.sure you I am not impressionable," he added a moment later with the cynical twist of the lips that Olga knew so well. "And I never play with fire. That form of amus.e.m.e.nt doesn't attract me."

A sudden humorous glitter shone between Nick's half-closed eyelids. "But even serious people burn their fingers sometimes," he observed. "I presume you haven't proposed yet?"

"Yes, I have." Max spoke with dogged a.s.sertiveness.

Nick jerked upright. "The deuce you have!"

"You needn't excite yourself," Max a.s.sured him grimly. "We are not officially engaged yet--or likely to be. You needn't stick your spoke in. She knows I shan't marry her against her will."

"Oh, that's settled, is it?" Nick's eyes flashed over him with lightning rapidity.

"It is." Max began to smile. "And the marriage will take place some time before the end of next year."

The door opened abruptly while he was speaking, but he finished his sentence with extreme deliberation in spite of the fact that it was Olga who entered,--Olga, flushed and eager, vivid, throbbing with excitement.

If she heard his words she paid no heed to them, but broke at once into breathless speech.

"Oh, Nick, it's the post! It's the post! A letter from Dad and another from Muriel; both for you!"

Nick stretched out his hand to her. "Come over here, kiddie! We'll read them together."

She sprang to him, knelt beside him, and warmly hugged him. Max remained propped against the mantelpiece, looking on, ignored by both.