"Muriel's first!" commanded Nick; and, with hands that shook, Olga slit open the envelope.

He put his arm about her shoulders as she withdrew the sheet and opened it out. "Yes, you can read it too. I know what's in it, bless her heart!"

So together they read the closely-written pages. There was silence in the room as they did so, broken only by the crackling of the paper, while Max Wyndham kept a motionless watch, his s.h.a.ggy brows drawn close.

Suddenly Olga lifted her face. "Oh, Nick, isn't she a darling? I--I--it makes me feel such a beast!"

Nick's hand pinched her cheek in answer. His lips twitched a little, but he did not speak or raise his eyes.

She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I won't read any more, Nick.

It's too private. May I open Dad's?"

He took his wife's letter between his fingers and dexterously folded it.

"All right, Olga _mia!_ Let us hear the verdict of the great Dr. Jim!"

He glanced up at Max with the words and instantly looked away.

Olga had apparently forgotten his very existence. She opened her father's letter still in quivering haste, and again there was a silence of several seconds while they read.

It was broken in a fashion which not one of the three antic.i.p.ated. Quite suddenly Olga's lips began to quiver. She raised her head with the agitated gesture of one straining for self-control; and then in a moment the tears were running down her cheeks, and she covered her face and sobbed.

"Kiddie! Kiddie!" remonstrated Nick.

But it was Max who stooped and swiftly lifted her, holding her against his heart, stroking the fair hair with his steady capable hand. And surely there was magic in his touch, for almost immediately her weeping ceased. She looked up with slightly startled eyes, and drew herself gently but quite definitely from him.

"Thank you," she said, with a quaint touch of dignity. "You're very kind. Nick dear, I'm sorry. I--I'm all right now. Dad's very sweet to put it like that, pretending he doesn't mind a bit. I don't know how ever I shall say good-bye to him."

"You are really going then?" said Max.

She looked at him with a fleeting smile. "Yes, really!" she said.

"I congratulate you," he said.

Nick chuckled. "He is pretending he doesn't mind, too, Olga."

Olga flushed a little. "Oh, Max never pretends," she said. "Do you, Max?"

He smiled in his grim fashion. "It is not for me to contradict you," he said. "Permit me to congratulate you instead, and to hope that the East will not take as great liberties with your complexion as it has with Nick's."

"I'd rather be like Nick than anyone else in the world," she declared, with one arm wound about her hero's neck.

"Curious, isn't it?" grinned Nick.

"Almost incredible!" said Max.

"But quite true!" a.s.serted Olga with vehemence.

Max swung around with his hands in his pockets, and sauntered to the door. Reaching it, he glanced back for a moment at the eager, girlish face, unperturbed, inscrutable.

"Strange as it may seem," he said, "I personally would rather that you remained like yourself."

"What cheek!" said Olga, as the door shut.

"Oh, isn't he allowed to say that?" enquired Nick.

She nestled to him, albeit half in protest. "Do let's talk about important things!" she said.

And Nick at once took the hint.

CHAPTER XVIII

SOMETHING LOST

Had Olga been a little less engrossed with the all-absorbing prospect that had just opened before her, she might have regarded as somewhat unusual the fact that Violet made no further mention of the proposed trip with Major Hunt-Goring during the week that followed. But, such was her preoccupation, she had even ceased to remember his existence. Little more than six weeks lay between her and the great adventure to which she was pledged, and she had already commenced her preparations. A visit to town would of course be inevitable, but this could not take place till Muriel's return at the end of the month. Nevertheless Olga, being woman to the core, found many things to do at home, and immersed herself in sewing with a zest that provoked Nick to much mirth.

Violet watched her lazily, with occasional offers to help which were seldom meant or taken seriously.

"I believe I shall come after you, Allegro," she said once. "It will be very dull without you."

"You know you are never dull in the shooting season," was Olga's sensible reply. "You never have time to think of me then."

"Quite true, dear," Violet admitted. "I wonder what sort of crowd Bruce will collect this year, and if any of them will want to marry me. He is always furiously angry when that happens. I can't imagine why. It amuses me," said Violet, with a yawn.

"Perhaps he doesn't want you to get married," suggested Olga.

"Apparently not. And yet I am sure he would be thankful to be rid of me.

We never agree." The beautiful eyes gleamed mischievously. "I suppose he will expect me to marry a husband of his selection by-and-bye. He is very mediaeval in some things."

"I don't believe you ever mean to marry at all," said Olga.

"Oh, yes, indeed I do!" Violet uttered her soft, low laugh. "But I am mediaeval too, Allegro. Have you never noticed? I am waiting for the first man who is brave enough to run away with me."

It was on the day following this conversation that she prevailed upon Olga to leave her numerous occupations for an hour or so and motor her over to Brethaven to pay another visit to her old nurse, Mrs. Briggs.

Nick wished to go over to Redlands to sort some papers, and offered his company as far as his own gates.

"You can walk to 'The Ship' from there," he said to Olga. "It's only half a mile, and after that you can run about the sh.o.r.e and amuse yourselves till I am ready to go back."

"Don't get up to mischief!" said Max briefly.

Violet gave him a quick look from under her lashes, but said no word.

It was a hot morning with a hint of thunder in the atmosphere. With Olga at the wheel, they set off soon after breakfast, leaving Max pumping his bicycle at the surgery-door with grim energy. He was going to the cottage-hospital that morning, a fact which left the motor at liberty till the afternoon.

Mile after mile of dusty road slid by, and Olga, with her heart in the future, sang softly to herself for sheer lightness of heart. She had ceased to trouble about Max, since he, quite obviously, had no intention of obtruding himself upon her. The problem--if problem there were--was evidently one that would keep until her return from India, and Olga was child enough to feel that that event was far too remote to trouble her now.