"Well, Miss Ratcliffe," he said conversationally, "and how do you like India?" It was the first time he had deliberately accosted her. She glanced up at him sharply, and made a slight, instinctive movement away from him. At once, albeit almost imperceptibly, Noel moved a little nearer to her. She was conscious of his intention to protect, and threw him a brief smile as she made reply. "I am enjoying it very much." "Really!" said Hunt-Goring. "And you are engaged to be married, I hear?" Olga did not instantly reply. It was Noel who answered shortly: "Yes, to my brother. No objection, I suppose?" It was aggressively spoken. Noel had quite obviously taken a dislike to the newcomer, a sentiment which Olga knew to be instantly reciprocated by the calm fashion in which Hunt-Goring ignored his intervention. She found him waiting markedly for her reply, and braced herself to enter the arena. "Is it news to you?" she asked coldly. He laughed his soft, hateful laugh. "Well, scarcely, since you, yourself, informed me of the approaching event some months before it took place." Noel made a slight gesture of surprise, and the colour rose in a hot wave to Olga's face; but she looked steadily at Hunt-Goring and said nothing. He went on, smoothly satirical. "I used to think the odds were in favour of Miss Campion, you know. You will pardon me for saying that I don't think there are many girls who could have cut her out." Olga's face froze to a marble immobility. "There was no question of that," she said. "No?" Hunt-Goring's urbanity scarcely covered his incredulity. "I fancied she took the opposite view. Well, well, the poor girl is dead and out of the running. I consider Max Wyndham is a very lucky man." He spoke with significance and Noel's eyes, jealously watching Olga's face, saw her flinch ever so slightly. A hot wave of anger rose within him; his hands clenched. He turned upon Hunt-Goring. "If you have anything offensive to say," he said, in a furious undertone, "say it to me, you damned coward!" Hunt-Goring looked at him at last. "I beg your pardon?" he said. Noel was on the verge of repeating his remark when, quick as a flash, Olga turned and caught his arm. "Noel, please, please!" she gasped breathlessly. "Not here! Not now!" He attempted to resist her, but she would not be resisted. With all her strength she pulled him away, her hands tightly clasped upon his arm. And it was thus that they came face to face with Max, sauntering in ahead of his host. He glanced at them both, but showed no surprise, though both Olga's agitation and Noel's anger were very apparent. "Look here, you two," he said, "Nick and I can't be kept waiting any longer. We value our beauty-sleep if you don't. And Mr. Musgrave is longing to see the last of us." "Not at all," said Will courteously. "But Nick has suddenly developed a violent hurry to be gone. My wife is trying to pacify him, but she won't hold him in for long."