Olga was the easiest person in the world to deal with upon such a subject. She expanded at the very mention of Nick's name.
"Oh, do you know him? Isn't he a darling? I have a photograph of him somewhere. I must try and find it. He is in fancy dress and standing on his head—such a beauty. Weren't you awfully fond of him? He has been ill, you know. Dad was very waxy because he wouldn't come home. He might have had sick leave, but he wouldn't take it. However, he may have to come yet, Dad says, if something happens. He didn't say what. It was something to do with his wound. Dad wants him to leave the Army and settle down on his estate. He owns a big place about twelve miles away that an old great-aunt of his left him. Dad thinks a landowner ought to live at home if he can afford to. And of course Nick might go into Parliament too. He's so clever, and rich as well. But he won't do it. So it's no good talking."
Olga jumped off the dressing-table, and wound her arm impulsively through Muriel's. "Miss Roscoe," she said coaxingly, "I do like you most awfully. May I call you by your Christian name?"
"Why, do!" Muriel said. "I should like it best."
"Oh, that's all right," said Olga, well pleased. "I knew you weren't stuck-up really. I hate stuck-up people, don't you? I'm awfully pleased that you like Nick. I simply love him—better almost than any one else. He writes to me sometimes, pages and pages. I never show them to any one, and he doesn't show mine either. You see, we're pals. But I can show you his photograph—the one I told you about. It's just like him—his grin and all. Come up after tea, and I'll find it."
And with her arm entwined in Muriel's she drew her, still talking eagerly, from the room.
CHAPTER XX
NEWS FROM THE EAST
"I have been wondering," Grange said in his shy, rather diffident way, "if you would care to do any riding while I am here."
"I?" Muriel looked up in some surprise.