as closed."

It was a bitter disappointment to her; but she saw that there was no
appealing against his decision. She made as though she would turn away.

But he stopped her with quiet mastery. "No, I won't have that," he said.
"I am not so cold-blooded as you think. I haven't hurt you--really,
Olga!"

A note of tenderness sounded in his voice. She yielded to him, albeit
under protest.

"But you have!" she said.

He held her in his arms again. He kissed her drooping lips. "Well, if I
have," he said, "it's the faithful wound of a friend. Can't you forgive
it?"

That Max should ever ask forgiveness was amazing. Her bitterness went
out like the flare of a match. She laid her head against his neck.

"Max--dear, I didn't mean to be horrid!"

"You couldn't be if you tried," he said.

She clung faster to him. "How can you say so? I've hardly ever been
anything else to you."

"When are you going to reform?" said Max, with his lips against her
forehead.

"Now," said Olga into his neck.

"Really?" Max's voice came down to her very softly. "Then--won't you say
Yes to the Midsummer Day project?"

She was silent for a little, as if considering the matter or summoning
her resolution. Then with sudden impulse she lifted her face fully to
his.

"Yes, Max," she said.

CHAPTER XII

A LETTER FROM AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

It was universally acknowledged that the Rajah's Prime Minister, Kobad
Shikan, was the most magnificent figure on the polo-ground that
afternoon. The splendour of his attire was almost dazzling. He literally
glittered with jewels. And his snow-white beard added very greatly to
the general brilliance of his appearance. It was not his custom to
attend social gatherings at all. Unlike the Rajah, he was by no means
British in his tastes; and he never wore European costume. At the same
time no one had ever detected any anti-British sentiments in him. He
walked with such extreme wariness that no one actually knew what his
sentiments were.

Why he had decided to grace the occasion with his presence was a matter
for conjecture. Owing possibly to his habitual reticence, he was no
favourite with the English portion of the community. Daisy Musgrave had
nicknamed him Bluebeard long since, and Peggy firmly believed that
somewhere in the depths of the Rajah's Palace this old man kept his
chamber of horrors.

"What on earth has he come for, Nick?" murmured Olga, as they found
places in the pavilion.

Ni