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 shirk 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.