andah.

"In that case," she said, "you had better not educate it any further."

"Oh, it won't make you cross on the bird's lips," Noel assured her.

"Has it got lips?" she asked. "What a curious specimen it must be!"

"I say, don't laugh!" he besought her, with dancing eyes. "It's not a
joke, I assure you. I'll tell you what I'm teaching it to say if you
like. But I shall have to whisper it. Do you mind?"

Again she found him hard to resist, albeit she did not want to yield.
"Well?" she said.

They were close to the bungalow now. Noel came very near. "Of course you
can wring the little brute's neck if it displeases you," he said, "but
it's a corky youngster and I don't much think you will. He's learning
to say, 'I love you, Olga.'"

Olga looked up on the verge of protest, but before she could utter it
Nick's gay, cracked voice hailed them from above; and Noel, briskly
answering, deprived her of the opportunity.

CHAPTER VII

THE WILDERNESS OF NASTY POSSIBILITIES

When Nick heard of the mistake that had been made, he raised his
eyebrows till he could raise them no further and then laughed, laughed
immoderately till Olga was secretly a little exasperated.

They did not have much time for discussing the matter, and for some
reason Nick did not seem anxious to do so. If he had his own private
opinion, he did not impart it to Olga, and, since he seemed inclined to
treat the whole affair with levity, she did not press him for it. For
she herself was regarding matters very seriously.

Noel's candid adoration was beginning to assume somewhat alarming
proportions, and she had a feeling that it was undermining her
resolution. She was not exactly afraid, but she did not feel secure. He
appealed, in some fashion wholly inexplicable, to her inner soul. His
very daring attracted her. By sheer audacity he weakened her powers of
resistance. And yet she knew that he would not press her too hard. With
all his impetuosity, he was so quick to understand her wishes, so swift
to respond to the curb. No, he would not capture her against her will.
But therein she found no comfort. For he was drawing her by a subtler
method than that. His boyish homage, his winning ardour, these were
weapons that were infinitely harder to resist. There was scarcely a
woman in Noel Wyndham's acquaintance who had not at one time or another
felt the force of his fascination. He exerted it instinctively, often
almost unconsciously, and now tha