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"Nothing ever shocks a medical man," observed Violet. "He is inured to
the worst. Come along, dear! This place is like a vault. Let us get into
the sunshine and leave him to wallow till tea appears."

They went out together to Olga's immense relief, and spent the next ten
minutes in playing with the motor, in the driving of which Violet had
lately developed a keen interest.

When they returned, the book had disappeared and the incident was
apparently forgotten. They had tea to the accompaniment of much
light-hearted chatter on the parts of Violet and Max Wyndham. Colonel
Campion sat in heavy silence, and Olga instinctively held aloof. There
was something in Max's attitude that puzzled her, but it was something
so intangible that she could not even vaguely define it to herself. All
his careless banter notwithstanding, she was fully convinced in her own
mind that he was not in the smallest degree dazzled or so much as
attracted by the brilliant beauty that so dominated her own imagination.
Though he laughed and joked in his customary cynical strain, she had a
feeling that his mental energies were actually employed elsewhere. He
was like a man watching behind a mask. Watching--for what?

Suddenly she remembered again the tragedy she had witnessed in the glen
that afternoon, and her heart recoiled.

Was it the atmosphere of the place that made her morbid? Or was there
indeed some evil influence at work in her friend's life which she by her
headlong action had somehow rendered active?