"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. He was silent for a moment before he said very decidedly, "I'm
not going to let you dance with Hunt-Goring, so you may as well pass his
dances on to me. If he wants to know the reason, he can ask me--and I
shall be delighted to tell him."

He spoke in a fighting tone; there was fight in the grip of his hand.
Olga noted it, and foresaw trouble.

"I'm afraid it's too late now, Nick," she said rather wearily. "I must
keep my engagements."

Nick turned and sent one of his keen glances over her. "You won't keep
this one," he told her. "I am simply not going to allow it. Those
supper-dances are mine, so make up your mind to that!"

He spoke with a finality that made protest seem futile. It seemed to
Olga that the yellow face had never looked so grim. She made no further
effort to withstand him, aware that to do so would entail a battle of
wills which could only end in her defeat. Perhaps deep in the heart of
her she was even thankful for this brief reprieve.

She said nothing therefore, and Sir Reginald considerately turned the
subject by asking Nick what disguise he intended to assume.

"I?" said Nick. "I haven't absolutely decided, sir. I've got a fool's
dress somewhere that might serve."

He turned, releasing Olga's hand, to take a screw of paper from a salver
with which Kasur at that moment approached him.

He glanced at Sir Reginald as he did so, muttered a word of excuse, and
deftly opened it. The next instant he crumpled it again in his hand, and
spoke over his shoulder to the waiting native.

"Say I will see the moonstone before it is sent away!"

The man departed, and Nick rose. "Afraid I shall have to go to the
Palace, sir. Olga, you must take care of Sir Reginald in my absence."

"What! Now, Nick?" Olga looked up in swift surprise.

"Yes, now, my child. Good-bye!" He stooped and lightly kissed her. "I
daresay I shan't be late back. If I am, you must go to the Ball without
me, and get Sir Reginald to take care of you. I shall turn up some time,
you may be sure."

"Important, is it?" asked Sir Reginald.

Nick nodded. "I ought to go, sir. Don't wait for me. I shall follow on
if I'm late. In any case," he turned to Olga, "I shall be in time for
those supper-dances."

His look flashed over her with a species of quizzical tenderness. "