"Good luck to you, old chap!" he said.
Max's hand came out of his pocket with a jerk.

He still had it bandaged, but he managed to grip hard with it nevertheless.

But he did not utter a word.
They passed into the drawing-room with the lazy, tolerant air of men expecting to be amused; and Olga, with all her keenness, was very far from suspecting aught of what had just passed between them.
She and Violet were both near the open window, the latter with her instrument lying on her knee, its crimson ribbons streaming to the floor.

She herself was very simply attired in white.

The vivid beauty of her outlined against the darkness of the open French window was such as to be almost startling.