The Keeper of the Door Part 33

"Oh, it's all right now. Nick, how soon will Dad and Muriel get your letters?"

"The day after to-morrow," said Nick.

She took his hand and squeezed it. "And we shall hear--when?"

"On Thursday night--with luck," said Nick.

She carried the hand impulsively to her lips. "Nick, you are a darling!"

He laughed. "Same to you! But we won't count on it too much or we may find ourselves crying for the moon, which is the silliest amus.e.m.e.nt I know. How do you like Sir Kersley Whitton?"

"Oh, very much. You heard about--about Violet's mother having been engaged to him, I suppose?"

"He told me himself," said Nick.

"What did he tell you, Nick?"

Nick hesitated momentarily. "He spoke in confidence," he said then.

"You won't tell me?" she asked quickly.

"Sorry; I can't," said Nick.

Olga sat up. A sudden idea had begun to illumine her brain. "Nick tell me this--anyhow! Did Violet's mother do--something dreadful?"

"Look here, Olga _mia!_" said Nick severely. "I know you can't help being a woman, but you're not to look at your neighbour's cards. It's against the rules."

She laughed a little. "Forgive me, Nick! I suppose supper is ready. I'll come down."

They went down together, to find Violet thrumming her mandolin in the twilight for the benefit of Max who was stretched at full length on the drawing-room sofa. The three boys were scudding about the garden like puppies.

As Olga and Nick entered, Violet looked up from her instrument. "I'm wondering if Sir Kersley would like to adopt me as well as Max. Do you think he would?"

"Exceedingly doubtful," said Max, rising.

"Why?"

"You would take up too much of his valuable time," he rejoined. "A man has to think of that, you know."

"Only horrid sordid men like you!" she retorted.

He uttered his dry laugh. "A professional man must think of his career."

She tossed her head. "Is that your creed--that there is no time for a woman in a professional man's life?"

Max laughed again. "She mustn't be too beautiful, anyhow."

She sprang suddenly to her feet. The mandolin jarred and jangled upon the ground. "Are you listening, Allegro?" she said, and through her deep voice there ran a sinister note that seemed to mingle, oddly vibrant, with the echoing strings of the instrument. "A professional man can admit only a plain woman into his life. The other kind is too distracting, since he must think of his career."

Nick cut in upon the words with the suddenness of a sabre-thrust. "Oh, we all say that till we meet the right woman, and then, be she lovely or hideous, the career bobs under like a float and ceases to count."

Max grunted. "Does it? Well, you ought to know."

"Let's go and have supper," said Olga, and turned from the room.

Violet stooped to pick up her mandolin. Nick lingered to summon the boys. Max entered the dining-room in Olga's wake.

"Give me five minutes in the surgery presently," he said as he did so.

She glanced round at him sharply. "Why?"

He raised his brows. "Because I ask you to." He halted at the sideboard to cut some bread. "Going to refuse?" he asked.

"No," said Olga.

"Thanks!"

He went on with his cutting with the utmost serenity, and almost immediately they were joined by the rest of the party.

It was a somewhat rowdy meal. Violet appeared to be in one of her wildest moods. Her eyes shone like stars, and her merriment rippled forth continuously like a running stream. The boys were uproarious, and Nick was as one of them. In the midst of the fun and laughter, Olga sat rather silent. Max, drily humorous, took his customary somewhat supercilious share in the general conversation, but he made no attempt to draw her into it. She almost wished he would do so, for she felt as if he purposely held aloof from her.

Rising from the table at length, she was aware of an urgent impulse to s.h.i.+rk the interview for which he had made request. Valiantly she held it in check, but it did not have a very soothing effect upon her nerves.

The whole party rose together, and she slipped away to the kitchen to discuss domestic matters with the cook. She knew that Max saw her go, knew with sure intuition that he would seize the opportunity of her return to secure those few minutes alone with her that he had desired.

She was not mistaken. He was waiting for her by the baize door that led to the surgery when she emerged. With a brief, imperious gesture he invited her to pa.s.s through. The door closed behind them, and they were alone together.

"Come along into the consulting-room," said Max.

She turned thither without question. The room was in darkness. Max went forward and lighted the gas. Then, without pause, he wheeled and faced her.

"Are you angry with me still?"

Olga stood still by the table. "You haven't brought me in here to--quarrel, have you?" she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.

He smiled very slightly. "I have not. Sit down, won't you? You're looking very f.a.gged."

He pulled forward an arm-chair, and she sat down with a nervous feeling that she was about to face a difficult situation. He relaxed into his favourite position, lounging against the table, his hands deep in his pockets.

"I want a word with you about Hunt-Goring," he said.

She looked up startled. "What about him?"

"He was here to-day, wasn't he?" proceeded Max.

"Yes. He came to see Violet."

Max grunted. "I suppose you know his little game?"