"No, Nick was called away," she said. "He'll come later if he can."
"Called away, was he?" Noel paused, with her programme in his hand. "Is that what you are looking so worried about?"
She tried to laugh. "Yes, I am rather worried about him. I am afraid he is taking—big risks."
"Little idiot!" said Noel. "When he's got you to look after. But what do you mean by risks? Where has he gone?"
"I don't know," she said, with a shake of the head. "I don't know anything, Noel. He said something about going to see a moonstone, but I think that was only a blind. He can be rather subtle, you know, when he likes."
"Confound him!" said Noel. "Why doesn't he turn his attention to taking care of you? I've been wanting to have a talk to you for days, but I couldn't work it somehow."
Olga held out her hand for her programme; it shook ever so slightly. "I don't think we have anything very important to talk about," she said.
"But we have!" he said impetuously. "At least I have. Oh, damn!—a million apologies! I couldn't help it!—here's that brute Hunt-Goring. You're not going to dance with him? Say you're full up!"
Hunt-Goring, attired as a Turk, was crossing the room towards them. Olga cast a single glance over her shoulder, and turned to Noel with panic in her eyes.
"I've forgotten something," she said in a palpitating whisper. "I must run back to the cloak-room. Wait for me!"