"Of course I did. He--we thought perhaps it was a hoax."

Max grunted; she wondered if he were seriously displeased. And then
abruptly he turned her thoughts in another direction. "Well, now that
you know the truth,--what are you going to do about it?"

The question came with the utmost coolness, but yet in some fashion it
sounded like a challenge. She felt compelled to turn and face him.

Thick-set and British, he confronted her. "Before you decide," he said,
"there's just one little thing I should like you to remember. You may
not have been in love with me--I don't think you were; but you engaged
yourself to me quite a long time ago."

Olga's hands were locked together. But she met the challenge
unflinching, unafraid. Quite suddenly she knew how to answer it. Yet she
waited, not answering, her pale eyes shining, her whole being strung to
throbbing expectation.

He came a step nearer to her, looking at her very intently. "Well?" he
said.

She made a little fluttering movement with her clasped hands. Her face
was raised unfalteringly to his. "I haven't forgotten," she said.

"But you thought I had," said Max.

Her lips quivered. "So many things have happened since then," she said,
in a low voice.

"What of that?" he said, and suddenly there was a deep note in his voice
that she had never heard before. "Do you think that so long as the world
holds us both I would be content without you?"

The words were few, but they thrilled her as never had she been thrilled
before. There came again to her that breathless feeling as though an
immense wave had suddenly burst over her. She raised her face gasping,
half-frightened. She even had a wild impulse to turn and flee.

But it was gone on the instant, for very suddenly Max Wyndham's arms
closed about her, holding her fast, and she had no choice but to
surrender. With a sob she yielded herself to him, clinging very tightly,
her face hidden with a desperate shyness against his shoulder.

He spoke no word of love, simply holding her in silence during those
first great moments. But at length his hand came up and lay quietly,
reassuringly, upon her head. She quivered under it for a little. He
waited till she was still.

"Olga," he said then, speaking very softly, "will you tell me
something?"

"Perhaps," she whispered back.

"Why are you afraid of me? You never used to be."

She clung a little closer to him and was silent.

"Don't you know?" he said.

"Not altog