He spoke impressively, notwithstanding his laugh. And Daisy accepted his advice in silence. Much as she loved Nick, she knew but too well how a struggle with him would end, and she shrank from risking a conflict. Besides, there was Olga to be thought of. She resumed her sewing with a puckered brow. Certainly Olga must be warned. There might be no truth in the story, but then rumours of that description never started themselves. And Max Wyndham--well she had been prejudiced against him from the beginning in spite of the fact that Nick was all in his favour. He was ruthless and unscrupulous; she was sure of it. How he had ever managed to win Olga was a perpetual puzzle to her. Perhaps he really was magnetic, as Nick had said. But she believed it to be an evil magnetism. As a lover, he was the coolest she had ever seen. "Altogether objectionable," had been her verdict from the outset. And now came this monstrous tale to confirm her previous opinion. Impulsively Daisy decided that Olga must not be left in ignorance. Marriage was too great a speculation for any risk of that kind to be justifiable. She felt she owed it to the girl to warn her--to save her from a possible life-long misery. These things had such a ghastly knack of turning up afterwards. And Olga was so young, so trusting-- "Are you going to take my advice?" asked Hunt-Goring. She looked up with a start. "What advice?" "As to maintaining a discreet silence," he said. His eyes were half-closed; she could not detect the narrowness of his scrutiny. "No," she answered. "I shall certainly speak to Olga. It wouldn't be right--it wouldn't be fair--not to do so." Her look was suddenly appealing. "There is a free-masonry among women as well as men," she said. "We must keep faith with one another at least." Hunt-Goring closed his eyes completely, and smiled a placid smile. "Dear Mrs. Musgrave," he said, "you are a true woman." And she did not hear the note of exultation below the lazy appreciation of his words. CHAPTER XV THE SPREADING OF THE FLAME Certainly Major Hunt-Goring was the last person Olga expected to meet at the Musgraves' dinner-party that night, and so astounded was she for the moment at the sight of him that she came to a sudden halt on the threshold of the drawing-room. "Hullo!" murmured Max's voice behind her. "Here's a dear old friend!" Max's hand gently pushed her forward, and in an instant she had mastered her astonishment. She met the dear old friend with heightened colour indeed, but with no other sign of agitation. He smiled upon her, upon Max, upon Nick, with equal geniality. "Quite a gathering of old friends!" he remarked. "Quite," said Nick. "Have you only just come out?" "No, I've been out some weeks. I came after tiger," said Hunt-Goring, with his eyes on Olga, who had passed on to her host. "You won't find any in this direction," said Nick. "Wyndham bagged the last survivor on Christmas Day, and a mangy old brute it was."