“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!”

She flashed him her gay smile and flung the streaming ribbons over her arm.  There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as, without preliminary, she began to sing.  Her voice was rich and low and wonderfully pure.

   In vain all the knights of the Underworld woo’d her,
   Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she;
   Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,
   But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.

   “Whomsoever I wed,” said this maid, “so excelling,
   That Knight must the conqu’ror of conquerors be;
   He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in;—­
   None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!”

   Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her
   On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree;
   Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,
   And worshipp’d at distance the high-born Ladye.

   At length came a Knight from a far land to woo her,
   With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea;
   His vizor was down—­but, with voice that thrill’d through her,
   He whisper’d his vows to the high-born Ladye.

   “Proud maiden, I come with high spousals to grace thee,
   In me the great conqu’ror of conquerors see;
   Enthron’d in a hall fit for monarchs I’ll place thee,
   And mine thou’rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!”