"Yes, I have." Max spoke with dogged assertiveness.
Nick jerked upright. "The deuce you have!"
"You needn't excite yourself," Max assured him grimly. "We are not officially engaged yet—or likely to be. You needn't stick your spoke in. She knows I shan't marry her against her will."
"Oh, that's settled, is it?" Nick's eyes flashed over him with lightning rapidity.
"It is." Max began to smile. "And the marriage will take place some time before the end of next year."
The door opened abruptly while he was speaking, but he finished his sentence with extreme deliberation in spite of the fact that it was Olga who entered,—Olga, flushed and eager, vivid, throbbing with excitement. If she heard his words she paid no heed to them, but broke at once into breathless speech.
"Oh, Nick, it's the post! It's the post! A letter from Dad and another from Muriel; both for you!"
Nick stretched out his hand to her. "Come over here, kiddie! We'll read them together."
She sprang to him, knelt beside him, and warmly hugged him. Max remained propped against the mantelpiece, looking on, ignored by both.
"Muriel's first!" commanded Nick; and, with hands that shook, Olga slit open the envelope.