The Keeper of the Door Part 39

"How do you find yourself this morning?" asked Max.

"I'm perfectly well, thank you," said Olga briefly.

"Ready to start jam-making?" he suggested.

Olga went to the coffee-urn. "I really don't know," she said. "I've had other things to think about."

He smiled a little, the superior, one-sided smile she most detested.

"You mustn't let the fruit go bad," he observed, "after all my trouble."

Olga peered into the coffee-urn, without replying. Max in an exasperating mood could be very exasperating indeed. He pulled out the chair next to her, and sat down.

"And how is the beautiful Miss Campion?" he said.

Olga looked at him. She could not help it.

"Well?" said Max.

She coloured hotly. "I wonder you haven't been to see for yourself," she said.

"Perhaps I have," said Max.

She turned from his open scrutiny, and began to pour out the coffee with a hand not wholly steady.

"I presume--if you had--you wouldn't ask me," she said.

He lodged his chin on his hand, the better to study her. "In making that presumption, fair lady," he said, "you are not wholly justified. Has it never occurred to you that I might entertain a certain veneration for your opinion on a limited number of subjects?"

Olga set down the coffee-urn and squarely turned upon him. "Have you seen her this morning?" she asked him point-blank.

"Yes, I have seen her," he said.

"Then you know as much as I do," said Olga.

"Not quite," he returned. "I soon shall however. Did she seem pleased to see you this morning?"

"Of course," said Olga.

"And why 'of course'? Do you never disagree?" He asked the question banteringly, yet his eyes were still upon her, unflaggingly intent.

"We never quarrel," said Olga.

"I see. You have differences of opinion; is that it? And what happens then? Is there never a tug of war?" Max's smile became speculative.

"No, never," said Olga.

"Never?" He raised his red brows incredulously. "Do you mean to say you give in to her at every turn? She can be fairly exacting, I should imagine."

"I would give her anything she really wanted if it lay in my power,"

said Olga very steadily.

"Would you?" said Max. He suddenly ceased to smile. "Even if it chanced to be something you wanted rather badly yourself?"

She nodded. "Wouldn't you do as much for someone you loved?"

"That depends," said Max cautiously.

"Oh, of course!" said Olga quickly. "You're a man!"

He laughed. "You've made that remark before. I a.s.sure you I can't help it. No, I certainly wouldn't place all my possessions at the disposal of even my best friend. There would always be--reservations."

He looked at her with a smile in his eyes, but Olga did not respond to it. An inner voice had suddenly warned her to step warily. She took up the coffee-urn again.

"I wouldn't give much for that kind of friendship," she said.

"But is it always in one's power to pa.s.s on one's possessions?"

questioned Max. "I maintain that the possessions are ent.i.tled to a voice in the matter."

"I don't understand you," said Olga, in a tone that implied that she had no desire to do so.

"No?" said Max indifferently. "Well, I think unselfishness should never be carried to extremes. Some women have such a pa.s.sion for self-sacrifice that they will stick at nothing to satisfy it. The result is that unwilling victims get offered up, and you will admit that that is scarcely fair."

Olga handed him his coffee. "Will you cut the ham, please?" she said.

"Do you catch my meaning yet?" asked Max, not to be thwarted.

She shook her head. "But really it doesn't matter, and it's getting late."

"Sorry to keep you," he replied imperturbably, "but when I take the trouble to expound my views, I like to guard against any misunderstanding. Just tell me this, and I shall be satisfied. If you were at a ball, and you had a partner you liked and who liked you, and you came upon your friend crying because she wanted that particular partner--would you give him up to her?"

"Of course I should," said Olga. "I don't call that a very serious self-sacrifice."

"No?" said Max. He gave her a very peculiar look, and pursed his lips for an instant as if about to whistle. "And if the unfortunate partner objected?"

Olga began vigorously to cut some bread. "He would have to put up with it," she said.

Max rose without comment and went to the ham. There followed a somewhat marked silence as he commenced to carve it. Then: "Pardon my persistence, fair lady," he said. "But just one more question--if you've no objection. Suppose you were my partner and Hunt-Goring the forlorn friend, do you think I should be justified in pa.s.sing you on to him? It would be a considerable self-sacrifice on my part."

"Oh, really!" exclaimed Olga, in hot exasperation. "What absurd question will you ask next?"

He looked across at her with a complacent smile. "You see, I'm only a man," he said coolly. "But that ill.u.s.trates my point. It's not always possible to pa.s.s 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 rea.s.suring. He kissed her lightly, and took up his correspondence.