"Given his own way, quite irreproachable," said Max "He's not very rich, but he's no slacker. If he doesn't break his neck at polo, he'll get on."
"Oh, he's brilliant enough," said Nick. "I suppose he can be trusted to look after her. He's full young."
"He'll grow," said Max.
A brief silence fell between them. Max continued to smoke imperturbably. There was not the faintest sign of disappointment in his bearing. He looked merely ruminative.
Nick was thoughtful also. He sat and watched his man fasten his gaiters with those flickering eyes of his that never seemed to concentrate upon one point and yet missed nothing.
"What are you going to do about Hunt-Goring?" he asked suddenly.
"Do about him?" Max sounded supremely contemptuous. He raised one eyebrow in supercilious interrogation.
"Well, he dealt this hand," said Nick.
"With Mrs. Musgrave's kind assistance," supplemented Max.
Nick made a grimace. "Who told you that?"