Max made prompt and unflattering reply. "Because he's so obviously gimcrack that no one dares do anything to him for fear he should tumble to pieces." "Many thanks!" said Nick. Violet's peal of laughter mingled with the weird notes of her mandolin, and Olga, returning, desired to be told the joke. Nick pulled her down beside him on the sofa. "Come and take care of me, Olga _mia_! I'm being disgracefully maligned. Can't you persuade Miss Campion to sing to us, by way of changing the subject?" "Who has been maligning you?" demanded Olga, looking at Max with very bright eyes. He looked straight back at her with that gleam in his eyes which with any other man would have denoted admiration but which with him she well knew to be only mockery. "I admit it, fair lady," he said. "I threw a clod of mud at your hero. I thought it would be good for him. However, you will be relieved to hear that it went wide of the mark. He still sits secure in his tight little shrine and smiles magnanimously at my futility." Olga's hand slipped into Nick's. "He's the biggest man you've ever seen!" she declared, with warmth. "Please don't fight over my body!" remonstrated Nick. "I never professed to be more than a minnow among Tritons, and quite a lean minnow at that." "You're not, Nick!" declared his champion impetuously. "You're a giant!" "In miniature," suggested Max. "He is actually proposing to go and kick Major Hunt-Goring because--" He broke off short. Into Olga's face of flushed remonstrance there had flashed a very strange look, almost a petrified look, as if she had suddenly come upon a snake in her path. "Why?" she said quickly. "Oh, never mind why," said Max, passing rapidly on. "That wasn't the point. We were trying to picture Hunt-Goring's amusement. He stands about seven feet high, doesn't he? And your redoubtable uncle--What exactly is your height, Ratcliffe?" "Nick, why do you want to kick Major Hunt-Goring?" Very distinctly Olga put the question. She was evidently too proud to accept help from this quarter. "It's a chronic craving with me," said Nick. "But Miss Campion has kindly undertaken the job for me. I am sure she is infinitely better equipped for the task than I am, and she will probably do it much more effectually." "But not yet!" laughed Violet. "I like his cigarettes too well. Why do you look like that, Allegro? Doesn't he send you any?" "If he did," said Olga, with concentrated passion, "I'd pick them up with the tongs and put them in the fire!" Max laughed in a fashion that made her wince, but Nick's fingers squeezed hers protectingly. "You don't like him any better than I do apparently," he said lightly. "But I suppose we must tolerate the man for Jim's sake. He wouldn't thank us for eliminating all his unpleasant patients during his absence. Now, Miss Campion, a song, please! The most sentimental in your _repertoire_!"