yes were upon his hand--that hand which she
had so ruthlessly stabbed not so very long before. The red scar yet
remained. For the first time she felt genuinely sorry for having
inflicted it.

"But there is no question of my marrying him, is there?" she said at
last. "He has never even hinted at such a thing."

"That's true," said Max grimly. "You see, he has begun to realize by
this time that you are not precisely fond of him."

She shivered involuntarily. "I hate him, Max!"

"He thrives on that," observed Max drily.

"Oh, not really!" she protested. "He couldn't want to marry me against
my will."

"My good child," said Max, "if you had had the bad taste to flirt with
him, he would have tired of you long ago. As it is--" he paused.

She looked up. "As it is?"

He uttered a curt laugh, and sat up, thrusting his hand back into his
pocket. "Well--he won't be happy till he gets you."

Olga sprang to her feet. "But, Max, he couldn't marry me against my
will! That sort of thing isn't done nowadays."

Max looked at her, his shrewd eyes very cynical. "Quite true!" he said.

"Then--then--" She stood hesitating, looking at him doubtfully--"what is
there to be afraid of?" she asked at length.

"Oh, don't ask me!" said Max.

She felt the blood rush back to her face, and turned sharply from him.

"You--you don't help me much," she said.

He got to his feet abruptly. "You won't accept my help," he returned.
"You've got yourself into a nasty hole, and you can't climb out alone,
and you won't let me pull you out."

Olga was silent.

He stood a moment, then turned to the doctor's writing-table and sat
down. "It's no good talking round and round," he said. "You'll have to
tell Nick or your father. I can't do anything further. It's not in my
power."

He opened a blotter with an air of finality, found a sheet of paper, and
began to write.

Olga turned at the sound of his pen, and watched him dumbly. He had
apparently dismissed her and her small affairs from his mind. His hand
travelled with swift decision over the paper. He was evidently immersed
in his own private concerns. He wrote rapidly and without a pause.

Very suddenly, without turning, he spoke again. "How did you like
Kersley?"

The question astonished her. She had almost forgotten their visitor of a
few hours before. But she managed to answer with enthusiasm.

"I liked him immensely."

"He is the greatest friend I possess," Max said, still writing.