Max came from the direction of the surgery as they entered.

"Can I speak to you a moment?" he said to Olga and drew her into her
father's little smoking-room at the side of the hall almost before the
words were uttered.

Olga faced him with a racing heart, burningly reminiscent of the note
she had left in his hat, the note she had asked him to ignore.

He must have seen her embarrassment, for his green eyes studied her
without mercy; but when he spoke it was not upon the subject of her
overture.

"Look here!" he said. "Hunt-Goring is here. Do you mind if I ask him to
luncheon?"

The news was unexpected. Olga gave a sharp, involuntary start. "Major
Hunt-Goring!" she stammered. "Why--what is he doing here?"

"He walked over with a broken thumb for me to mend," said Max, still
grimly watching her. "It's some way back to The Warren, and he's a bit
used up. I fancy your father would make him lunch here under the
circumstances, but you must do as you think best. It's not my house."

The colour sank rapidly from Olga's face under his look. "Oh, Dr.
Wyndham," she said breathlessly, "do you think we need?"

He frowned at her agitation. "Of course, we needn't," he said. "If you
don't want him, he can go to 'The Swan.' He is in the surgery at the