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Updated: July 3, 2025
You will be gratified to hear that, thanks to your skilful treatment, my thumb has mended quite satisfactorily." Max looked at the hand critically; he did not offer to take it. "I am greatly gratified," he said. Hunt-Goring withdrew it, still smiling. "May I congratulate you on your engagement," he said. Max's mouth went down ironically. "Certainly if you feel so disposed," he said.
But remember the supper-dances are mine." She started a little. "Oh, Nick dear, I'm afraid I've promised those already." "To whom?" said Nick swiftly. "Major Hunt-Goring." Her voice was low; she did not look at him as she uttered the name. Nick's eyebrows shot upwards with lightning rapidity; then drew into a frown.
Sit down, won't you? You're looking very fagged." He pulled forward an arm-chair, and she sat down with a nervous feeling that she was about to face a difficult situation. He relaxed into his favourite position, lounging against the table, his hands deep in his pockets. "I want a word with you about Hunt-Goring," he said. She looked up startled. "What about him?"
"Where have you been living since your retirement?" "I took a place in England in the hunting-country quite a decent place." "Ah? Where?" "About two miles from a little town called Weir." Hunt-Goring spoke deliberately, still watching his hostess's slim fingers at work. "Why!" Swiftly Daisy looked up. "That is where the Ratcliffes live Jim Ratcliffe and Olga. Olga is out here now with Nick.
The sun still shone gloriously, and the yacht slipped on through the shining water, throwing up the sparkling foam as she went. But to Olga the whole world had become a place of darkness and of the shadow of death. Whichever way she turned, she was afraid. "Oh, why have you told me?" she said at last. "Why why have you told me?" "Can't you guess?" said Hunt-Goring. "No!"
Hunt-Goring is no favourite of mine, but I never anticipated his taking such a step. I did not so much as know that he was in a position to do so. He suppressed that fact on the sole occasion on which Miss Campion's name was mentioned between us." Olga spoke for the first time, her stiff lips scarcely moving. "I think he is a devil," she said slowly.
He spoke with significance and Noel's eyes, jealously watching Olga's face, saw her flinch ever so slightly. A hot wave of anger rose within him; his hands clenched. He turned upon Hunt-Goring. "If you have anything offensive to say," he said, in a furious undertone, "say it to me, you damned coward!" Hunt-Goring looked at him at last. "I beg your pardon?" he said.
"How dare you make these vile insinuations in my hearing?" burst forth Noel. "Do you think I'm made of sawdust? Tell me what you mean, or else retract every single word you've said!" Hunt-Goring held up a cigarette between his fingers and looked at it. The fury of Noel's attitude scarcely seemed to reach his notice. He leaned against the balustrade of the verandah, still faintly smiling.
Now you mustn't talk," said Nick judiciously, "or you will spoil my inspiration. Who's that going across the lawn?" He was writing rapidly as he spoke. Olga raised herself on her elbow to look. "How on earth did you know? I never heard anyone. Oh!" "What's the matter?" said Nick. "It's Major Hunt-Goring!" Nick ceased to write and peered into the garden. "It's all right. He's only violeting.
She slipped from his arms, thankful for his forbearance, and sped away down the veranda like a shadow. As for Hunt-Goring, he cursed himself for a soft fool and took out his cigarettes to wile away what promised to be an evening of infernal dullness.
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