Max broke into a laugh. "Did you though?"
"Yes. What is there to laugh at? Wouldn't you have done the same? And when I told Nick the day after, he described the old beggar as a friend of his."
Max was still laughing. "What a devil of a fellow you are! I've seen the old gentleman myself. I rather think he is a friend. How did he take the kicking?"
"Oh, I don't know. He cursed a bit and went. What's the joke, I say?"
Noel's voice was imperious. He was always somewhat impatient of matters beyond his comprehension. But Max turned the subject off.
"You're such a peppery chap—always wanting to fight someone. Well, I must be gone. You'll remember not to fight Hunt-Goring?"
"No. I shan't fight the brute unless he interferes." Noel followed him to the door and stood a moment. "I say, Max," he suddenly said, "was this affair Hunt-Goring's doing?"
"What affair?" Max spoke as one bored with the subject.
But Noel persisted. "Was it thanks to Hunt-Goring that this split with
Olga came about?"
Max faced about. There was a very peculiar smile in his green eyes. "Well," he said very deliberately, "I don't say Hunt-Goring's influence has been exactly a genial one. But that fact in itself would not have much difference. The main reason is the one I have given you. If you are not satisfied with that—then you will never be satisfied with anything—and you won't deserve to be." He held out his hand. "Good-bye, lad! And again—good luck!"