He looked at her, sheer mischief dancing in his Irish eyes. "Come and see it some day and judge for yourself!" he said. "I can fix up a _seance_ any time. It would always be at home to you. I'm sure you would get on together."

It was hard to restrain a smile; Olga permitted herself one of strictly limited proportions.

"I will show you a glimpse presently if you would care to see it,"

proceeded Noel.

"Oh, please don't trouble!" said Olga.

"Afraid of being bored?" he asked.

She laughed. "Perhaps."

He leaned towards her. Her laugh was reflected in his eyes, but she did not hear it in his voice as he said, "Do you mean that? Do I really bore you?"

She met his look for a moment, and her heart quickened a little. Quite suddenly she realized that this man, young though he was, possessed a wonderful power of attraction. She wondered if he himself were aware of it, and rapidly decided that he had made the discovery in his cradle. Of one thing she was certain. She did not want to fall in love with him. He drew her indeed, but it was against her will.

"Well?" he said. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

She smiled. "Oh, no, you don't bore me," she said.

"Thanks awfully! It's not generally considered a family failing of the Wyndhams. Every other rascality under the sun, but not that."

"What a fascinating family you seem to be!" said Olga.

He made a wry face. "In a sense. Did you find Max fascinating?"

He put the question carelessly; yet she suspected he had a reason for asking it. She felt the tell-tale blood rising in her face.

"You don't like him?" said Noel.

She hesitated.

"I don't mind your saying so in the least," he a.s.sured her. "He's a queer chap--a bit of a genius in his own line; but geniuses are trying folk to live with. How did he get on with your father?"

"Oh, Dad likes him," she said.

"He's not much of a ladies' man," remarked Noel. "I suppose he has chucked that job by this time, and gone back to Sir Kersley Whitton.

Lucky beggar! He seems to be able to do anything he likes."

"I didn't know he was going to leave," said Olga quickly.

"No? I believe he said something about it in his letter to me. He is always rather sudden," said Noel. "Too much beastly electricity in his composition for my taste."

"Do you often hear from him?" Olga asked abruptly.

"Once in a blue moon. Why?" His dark eyes interrogated her, but she would not meet them.

"I just wondered," she said.

"No. I scarcely ever hear," said Noel. "He wrote, I suppose, to tell me of your good uncle's advent. He had probably heard from my sister that some of us were stationed here. Anyhow I lost no time in getting myself transferred for the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I was inclined to regret the move just at first. It's rather a hole, isn't it? But the moment I saw you--" Olga stiffened slightly, and he at once pa.s.sed on with the agility of a practised skater on thin ice: "I say, what a ripping little sportsman your uncle is! He is actually talking of taking up polo again. Did you know?"

"Polo!" Olga stared at him. "Nick! How could he?"

"Heaven knows! I suppose he would hang on with his knees, and swipe when he got the chance. He'd need some deuced intelligent ponies though."

"He couldn't possibly do it!" Olga declared. "He mustn't try."

"Think you can prevent him?" asked Noel curiously.

"He won't if I beg him not to," she said.

"Oh, that's how you manage him, is it? Does he always come to heel that way?"

Olga's eyes flashed a loving glance down the table towards her hero.

"There is no one in the world like Nick," she said softly.

"It's good to be Nick," remarked Noel, with his impudent smile. "It's quite evident that he can do no wrong."

She laughed and turned the subject. Nick was too near and dear to discuss with an outsider.

They began to talk of polo. A match had been arranged for Boxing Day.

Noel was a keen player, and had plenty to say about it.

The Rajah was also a keen player, and after a little he disengaged himself from Colonel Bradlaw's endless reminiscences and joined in the conversation, which speedily became general.

A display of fireworks had been provided for the entertainment of the guests, and when the long State dinner was over they repaired to a marble balcony that overlooked some of the Palace gardens.

Will Musgrave came and joined Olga as she stepped out between the carved pillars. She greeted him with a smile of welcome. They were old friends.

As a child she had known him before his marriage, though she had seen nothing of him since. There was something in the quiet strength of the man that appealed to her. He gave her confidence.

"Well, Olga," he said, "how do you like India?"

They stood together by the fretted marble bal.u.s.trade, looking down upon the illuminated gardens that stretched away dim and mysterious into the night.

Olga did not directly answer the question. "I am not really acquainted with her yet," she said.

He uttered a short sigh. "She is a hard mistress. I don't advise you to get too intimate. She has a way of turning and rending her slaves, which is ungrateful, to say the least of it."

"But you are not sworn to her service for ever," said Olga.

He laughed with a touch of sadness. "Until she kicks me out. Like Kipling's Galley Slave, I'm chained to the oar. It's all very well so long as one remains in single blessedness, but it's mighty hard on the married ones. Take my advice, Olga; never marry an Indian man!"

"I'm never going to marry anyone," said Olga, with quiet decision.

"Really!" said Will Musgrave.

She turned her head towards him. "You sound surprised."