Olga was standing with Noel, dressed for departure, waiting to go, when
Hunt-Goring sauntered up to her.
"Well, Miss Ratcliffe," he said conversationally, "and how do you like
India?"
It was the first time he had deliberately accosted her. She glanced up at him sharply, and made a slight, instinctive movement away from him. At once, albeit almost imperceptibly, Noel moved a little nearer to her. She was conscious of his intention to protect, and threw him a brief smile as she made reply.
"I am enjoying it very much."
"Really!" said Hunt-Goring. "And you are engaged to be married, I hear?"
Olga did not instantly reply. It was Noel who answered shortly: "Yes, to my brother. No objection, I suppose?"
It was aggressively spoken. Noel had quite obviously taken a dislike to the newcomer, a sentiment which Olga knew to be instantly reciprocated by the calm fashion in which Hunt-Goring ignored his intervention.
She found him waiting markedly for her reply, and braced herself to enter the arena. "Is it news to you?" she asked coldly.
He laughed his soft, hateful laugh. "Well, scarcely, since you, yourself, informed me of the approaching event some months before it took place."
Noel made a slight gesture of surprise, and the colour rose in a hot wave to Olga's face; but she looked steadily at Hunt-Goring and said nothing.