turned
them upon the white, shrinking face of the girl who stood rigid but
unresisting within the circle of his arm. And then very suddenly he bent
and kissed her on the lips.

She shivered through and through and broke from him with her hands over
her face.

"But you didn't pay your debt, you know," said Hunt-Goring amiably. "I
won't trouble you now, however, as we are no longer alone. Another
day--in a more secluded spot--"

No longer alone! Olga looked up with a gasp. Her face was no longer
pale, but flaming red. She seemed to be burning from head to foot.

And there, not a dozen paces from her, was Maxwell Wyndham, carelessly
approaching, his hands in his pockets, his hat thrust to the back of his
head, a faint, supercilious smile cocking one corner of his mouth, his
whole bearing one of elaborate unconsciousness.

This much Olga saw; but she did not wait for more. The situation was
beyond her. An involuntary exclamation of dismay escaped her, an
inarticulate sound that seemed physically wrung from her; and then,
without a second glance, ignominiously she turned and fled.

The sound of Hunt-Goring's oily laugh followed her as she went, and
added speed to her flying feet.

It was several minutes later that Max entered the surgery, carrying an
armful of stockings, and found her scrubbing her face vigorously over
the basin that was kept there. She had turned on the hot water, and a
cloud of steam arose above her head.

"Don't scald yourself!" said Max. "Try the pumice!"

"Oh, go away!" gasped Olga, with a furious stamp.

"Not going," said Max.

He fetched out a clean towel, and placed it within her reach. Then he
sat down on the table and waited, whistling below his breath.

Olga grabbed the towel at last and buried her face in it. "Do you want
to make me--hate you?" She flung at him through its folds.

"Don't be silly!" said Max.

"I'm not!" she cried stormily. "I'm not! It's you who--who make bad
worse--always!"

He stood up abruptly. "No, I don't. I help--when I can. Sit down, and
stop crying!"

"I'm not crying!" she sobbed.

"Then take that towel off your face, and behave sensibly. I'll make you
drink some _sal volatile_ if you don't."

"I'm sure you won't. I--I--I'm not a bit afraid of you!" came in muffled
tones of distress from the crumpled towel.

"All right. Who said you were?" said Max. "Sit down now! Here's a chair.
Now--let me have the towel! Yes, really, Olga!" He loosened her hol