Noel looked back at him again, and the shamed flush died away.  He leaned impulsively forward, suddenly, boyishly remorseful for his churlishness.

“Max!  Max, old boy!  I’m an infernal brute!” he declared.  “I was actually forgetting that you—­that you——­”

“You’re quite welcome to forget that,” interposed Max grimly.  He moved round the table, and clapped a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “I shall make it my business to forget it myself,” he said.  “But look here, don’t be headlong!  She isn’t quite ready for you yet.  I speak as a friend; go slow!”

Noel looked at him, and again the hot blood rose to his forehead.  He gripped the hand on his shoulder, and held it fast.  “I say, Max,” he said, an odd sort of deference in his tone, “she doesn’t know—­does she—­what a much better chap you are than I?”

The corner of Max’s mouth went up.  “Don’t talk bosh!” he said.

“I’m not,” persisted Noel.  “You’re doing what I hadn’t the spunk to do.  I think she ought to know that.”

Max’s smile passed from amusement to cynicism.  “Do you seriously think a woman loves a man for his good points?” he said.

“No; but you’ve no right to put her off with an inferior article,” persisted Noel.

“My good chap, I!  I tell you it was her own choice.”  Max almost laughed.

“But you care for her?” Noel’s dark eyes became suddenly intent and shrewd, and the boyishness passed from his face.  “See here, Max, I won’t take any sacrifices,” he said.  “I may be a selfish brute, but I’m not quite such a swine as that.  You care for her.”

“Which fact is beside the point,” said Max.  His fingers suddenly answered Noel’s grip with the strength of a restraining force.  “If there is any sacrifice anywhere,” he said, “it’s not offered to you, so make your mind easy on that head.  As I said before, she won’t have me at any price.  If she would, I shouldn’t be here now.  You see,” again his mouth twisted, “I’m not so ultra-generous myself.  But I don’t see why we should both be losers, especially as you had half won her before I came along.  So go ahead and good luck to you!”

He disengaged his hand and lightly slapped Noel’s shoulder as a preliminary to taking his departure.  But Noel, with a swift return to boyhood, caught him by the arms.  “I don’t know what to say to you, old chap,” he said, quick feeling in the words.  “You’ve made me feel like a murderer.”

“My dear chap, what rot!”

“No, it’s not rot!  I’ve hated you like the devil.  I’m beastly ashamed—­beastly sorry.  I’ll do anything to atone—­anything under the sun.  Give me something to do for you, Max, old boy!  I can’t stand myself if you go like this.”

He spoke impulsively enough, but there was more than mere impulse in his speech.  Hot-headed repentance it might be, but it was the real thing.

Max stood still, faintly smiling.  “My dear lad, there’s nothing you can do for me that you won’t do twice as well for yourself,” he said.  “I’m glad you care for her, and I’m not sorry you hated me for getting in your way.  You might let me know when it’s time to congratulate.  That’s all I can think of at the present moment—­except, yes, one thing!”