, for--for being very unkind to him." Olga's lips quivered again,
and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I feel as if--as if I've been
running into things in the dark, and doing a lot of harm," she said. "Of
course everything is quite over--quite over--between us. He will
understand that. But I want--I want to be friends with him--if--he--will
let me. Nick dear, that's all. Hadn't you better go and have your tea?"

"And leave you to weep?" said Nick, with his face screwed up. "No, I
don't think so."

"I'm not going to," she assured him. "I'm going to be--awfully sensible.
Really I am. Kiss me, Nick darling, and go!"

He bent over her. "You mustn't cry," he urged pathetically.

She clasped him close. "No, I won't! I won't! Nick--dearest, you're the
very sweetest man in the world. I always have thought so, and I always
shall. There!"

"Ah, well, it's a comparatively harmless illusion," said Nick, with his
quizzical grimace. "I'll endeavour to live up to it. Sure you want me to
go?"

"Yes. You must go, dear. I'm sure Muriel is wanting you. I've
monopolized you long enough. You--you'll tell Noel, won't you? Is he all
right?"

"At the very top of his form," said Nick.

She smiled. "I'm so very glad. Give him my love, Nick, my--my best
love."

"I will," said Nick. He stood up. "He's a fine chap--Noel," he said. "He
deserves the best, and I hope--some day--he'll get it."

With which enigmatical remark, he wheeled and left her.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MAN'S POINT OF VIEW

That letter to Max was perhaps the hardest task that Olga had ever
undertaken. She spent the greater part of three hours over it, oblivious
of everything else; and then, close upon the dinner-hour, tore up all
previous efforts in despair and scribbled a brief, informal note that
was curiously reminiscent of one she had written once in a moment of
impulsive penitence and pinned inside his hat.

"Dear Max," it ran, "I want to tell you that everything has come back to
me, and I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me and let us be friends
for the future? Yours, Olga."

This letter she addressed and stamped and took downstairs with her,
laying it upon the hall-table to be posted. Thence she passed on to the
library to find a book she wanted.

The glow of sunset met her on the threshold, staying the hand she raised
to the electric switch. She moved slowly through the dying light to the
window and stood before it motionless, gazing forth