He must have seen her embarrassment, for his green eyes studied her without mercy; but when he spoke it was not upon the subject of her overture.
"Look here!" he said. "Hunt-Goring is here. Do you mind if I ask him to luncheon?"
The news was unexpected. Olga gave a sharp, involuntary start. "Major
Hunt-Goring!" she stammered. "Why—what is he doing here?"
"He walked over with a broken thumb for me to mend," said Max, still grimly watching her. "It's some way back to The Warren, and he's a bit used up. I fancy your father would make him lunch here under the circumstances, but you must do as you think best. It's not my house."
The colour sank rapidly from Olga's face under his look. "Oh, Dr.
Wyndham," she said breathlessly, "do you think we need?"
He frowned at her agitation. "Of course, we needn't," he said. "If you don't want him, he can go to 'The Swan.' He is in the surgery at the present moment. I must go back and see how he is getting on."
"Wait a moment!" Olga broke in rapidly. "I—I'm afraid you're right. Dad would certainly keep him. Oh, why isn't Nick here? He needn't have chosen to-day to break this thumb."
"Kismet!" said Max, with a cynical lift of the shoulders. "I gather you don't like the man?"
She shrank at the question: it was almost a shudder. "No!"
He turned to the door. "Well, pull yourself together. I daresay he won't eat you. And you'll have Miss Campion to protect you. She would be proof against a dozen monsters."