t her with a complacent smile. "You see, I'm only a
man," he said coolly. "But that illustrates my point. It's not always
possible to pass on all one's possessions, is it? It may answer in
theory but not in practice. I think you catch my meaning now?"

"Hadn't you better have your breakfast?" said Olga, with a glance at the
clock.

Max's eyes followed hers. "Where's Nick? Has he overslept himself?"

"He has not," said Nick, entering at the moment. "It is not a habit of
his. Well, Olga, my child, how goes the world this morning?"

She turned with relief to greet him. His genial personality was
wonderfully reassuring. He kissed her lightly, and took up his
correspondence.

"Let me open them!" she said.

He stood by and watched her while she did it. She was very deft in all
her ways, but to-day for some reason her hands were not quite so steady
as usual.

Nick threw a sudden glance across at Max while he waited. "Miss Campion
all right this morning?" he asked.

"Apparently," said Max, staring deliberately at a point some inches
above Nick's head.

Nick pivoted round abruptly, and found Violet standing in the doorway
directly behind him. He went instantly to meet her.

"Hullo, Miss Campion! You're just in time for breakfast. Come and have
some!"

His tone was brisk and kindly. He took her hand and drew her forward.
She submitted listlessly. Her face was white and her eyes deeply
shadowed. She scarcely raised them as she advanced.

"Hullo, Nick!" she said indifferently. "Hullo, Allegro! No, I don't want
any breakfast. I'm not hungry to-day." She reached the table, and for
the first time seemed to become aware of Max, seated on the opposite
side of it.

Her eyes suddenly opened wide. She stood still and faced him. "I want my
cigarettes," she said, with slow emphasis.

Olga glanced at him sharply, in apprehension of she knew not what. Max's
face, however, expressed no anxiety. He even faintly smiled.

"What! Haven't you got any? I shall be happy to supply you with some,"
he said, feeling in his pocket for his own case.

She leaned her hands upon the table in a peculiar, crouching attitude
that struck Olga as curiously suggestive of an angry animal.

"I don't want yours," she said, in a deep voice that sounded almost like
a menace. "I want my own!"

Max looked straight at her for a few seconds without speaking. Then, "I
am sorry," he said very deliberately. "But you mustn't smoke that sort
any more. They