Olga's face was crimson. She got quickly to her feet and stood stiffly silent.
Hunt-Goring was looking remarkably elegant, attired in white drill with a yachting cap which he carried in his hand.
"I seem to have come at an opportune moment," he said. "Really, the fates are more than kind. The yacht is making for Brethaven jetty to take me on board. If you ladies will come with me for a couple of hours' cruise, I need scarcely say how charmed I shall be."
He was looking at Violet as he spoke, and she made instant and impulsive reply. "Of course we will! It will be too delicious—the very thing I was longing for. What lucky chance sent you our way, I wonder?"
She gave him her hand, which he took with a gallantry that sent a quiver of disgust through Olga. With a sharp effort she spoke, hurriedly, nervously, but very much to the point.
"It's very good of you, but we can't possibly come. We must be getting back. You are going to see Mrs. Briggs, you know, Violet. And we promised Nick we wouldn't be late starting home from Redlands."
Violet's quick frown appeared like a sudden cloud. "My dear child, what nonsense! As if Mrs. Briggs mattered! And as for Nick, he won't be ready for more than two hours. You heard him say so."
But Olga stood her ground. "I don't see how we can possibly go—anyhow without telling Nick first. In fact, I would rather not."
Hunt-Goring was smiling—the smile of the man who has heard it all before. "Miss Olga is evidently afflicted with a tender conscience," he observed. "But if you really have two hours to spare and really care to go on the water, I do not see how Nick can reasonably object. Of course I have no desire to persuade you. I only beg that you will follow your inclinations."
"Of course!" said Violet quickly. "And we are coming—at least I am. Allegro, you can please yourself, but it will be very horrid of you if you won't come too."