chanced to have my sister to attend to at the same time."

"You have a sister?" said Olga, swift to intervene once more.

He nodded. "Did I never tell you? She is married to Trevor Mordaunt the
writer. Ever heard of him?"

"Why, yes! Nick knows him, I believe."

"Very likely. He has an immense circle of friends. He's quite a good
sort," said Max.

"And where do they live?" asked Olga, with interest.

"In Suffolk chiefly. Mordaunt bought our old home and gave it to
Chris--my sister--when they married. My elder brother manages the estate
for him."

"How nice!" said Olga. "And what is your sister like?"

Max smiled. "She is my twin," he said.

"Oh! Like you then?" Olga looked slightly disappointed.

Max laughed. "Not in the least. Can you imagine a woman like me? I
can't. She has red hair or something very near it. And there the
resemblance stops. I'll take you to see her some day--if you'll come."

"Thank you," said Olga guardedly.

"Don't mention it!" said Max. "There are two kiddies also--a boy and a
girl. It's quite a domestic establishment. I often go there when I want
a rest. My brother-in-law is good enough to keep special rooms for the
three of us."

"Is there another of you then?" asked Olga.

"Yes, another brother--Noel. By the way, he won't be going there again
at present, for he sailed for Bombay to join his regiment a year ago.
That's the sum complete of us." Max straightened himself with a faintly
ironical smile. "We are a fairly respectable family nowadays," he
observed, "thanks to Mordaunt who has a reputation to think of. But we
are boring Miss Campion to extinction. Can't we talk of something more
amusing?"

Violet threw back her head with a restless movement, but she did not
meet his eyes. "I am accustomed to amusing myself," she said.

He stooped to pick up a marker that had fallen from her book. "It is a
useful accomplishment," he observed, as he handed it to her, "for those
who have time to cultivate it."

She raised her arms with the careless, unstudied grace of a wild
creature. Her eyes were veiled.

"I assure you it is far more satisfying than tilting at windmills," she
said.

Max straightened himself. There seemed to Olga something pitiless about
him, a deadliness of purpose that made him cruel. And in that moment she
became aware of a strong antagonism between these two that almost
amounted to open hostility.

"A matter of opinion," said Max. "I suppose we each of us hav