conversation with Olga again until the great week arrived, and General
Sir Reginald Bassett came upon the scene with much military pomp and
ceremony.

Olga avoided all talk of a confidential nature with him with so obvious
a reluctance that he could not force it upon her in the brief spaces of
time which he had at his disposal when they met. They had become close
friends, but the feeling that this friendship depended mainly upon his
forbearance never left Noel, and he could not fail to see that she
shrank from the bare mention of Max's name.

He bided his time, therefore, since there was no urgent need to broach
the subject forthwith and he was still by no means sure of his ground.
He would have discussed the matter with Nick, but Nick was never to be
found. He came and went with astonishing rapidity, bewildering even Olga
by the suddenness of his moves. Vaguely she heard of unrest in the city,
but definite information she had none. Nick eluded all enquiries; but it
seemed to her that the yellow face grew more wrinkled every day, and the
shrewd eyes took on a vigilant, sleepless look that troubled her much in
secret. The thought of him kept her from brooding overmuch upon her own
trouble. She did not want to brood. If her own nights were sleepless,
she took a book and resolutely read. She would not yield an inch to the
ceaseless, weary ache of her heart, and very sternly she denied herself
the relief of tears. Too much of her life had been wasted already, in
the pursuit of what was not. She would not waste still more of it in
bitter, fruitless mourning over that which was.

Perhaps it was the bravest stand she had ever made, and what it cost her
not even Nick might guess. Certainly he had less time to bestow upon her
than ever before. They met at meals, and very often that was all. But
Olga, with her curious, new reserve, was not needing his companionship
just then. Her attitude towards her beloved hero had subtly changed.
Beloved he was still and would ever be, but he no longer dwelt apart
from all other men on the special little pedestal on which her worship
had placed him. He was no longer the demi-god of her childish adoration.
Olga had grown up, and was shedding her illusions one by one. Nick was a
man and she was a woman. Therefore it followed as a natural sequence
that though she was fully capable of understanding him, she herself
was--and must ever remain--a being beyond his comprehension. Not
superior to hi