d Max.

She made a movement as if she would withdraw herself from him, but he
quietly and very resolutely held her still. "Although you knew she cared
for you!" she said.

"Yes, in spite of that;" said Max. "In fact, I felt a bit vexed with her
for complicating matters in that fashion. Goodness knows I never gave
her the smallest reason for it!"

Olga laughed faintly, with an unwonted touch of bitterness. "It's a pity
women are such doting fools," she said.

He looked at her attentively. "Did you say that?" he asked.

She met his look, not without defiance. "Yes, and I meant it too. It's
such a wicked waste. And I think--- I think--in her case it was
something far worse. I believe it was that which in a very great measure
helped to unhinge her mind."

"How could I help it?" demanded Max almost fierily. "I never wanted her
to care."

"That was just the cruel part of it," said Olga. "It was just your utter
indifference that broke her heart."

"Good heavens!" said Max.

He let her go very abruptly and leaned against one of the verandah posts
as if he needed support.

Olga tilted herself over the side of the hammock and stood up. "You
couldn't help not caring," she said. "But--you might have been a little
kinder. You needn't have made her hate and fear you."

Max surveyed her grimly from under drawn brows. "My dear," he said,
"you simply don't know what you are talking about."

That fired her. A quiver of passion went suddenly through her. She faced
him as she had faced him in the old days with a courage that sustained
itself.

"Indeed, I know!" she said. "Better than it is in your power to
understand. Oh, I know now what made her--hate you so."

The last words came with a rush, almost under her breath; but they were
fully audible to the man lounging before her.

He did not speak at once, and yet he did not give the impression of
being at a loss. He continued to lounge while he contemplated her with
eyes of steady inscrutability.

He spoke at length with extreme deliberation. "And so you want to take
me to task for breaking her heart, do you?"

"She was my friend," said Olga quickly.

He stood up slowly. "And would you have liked it better if I had made
love to her?"

She flinched as if that stung. "No--no! But you might have been
kind--you might have been kind--since you knew she cared. If you hadn't
made such a study of her, she would never have looked your way. That was
the cruel part of it--the