"He wouldn't bully you if you weren't so nasty."
"Nick, I'm not nasty!"
"I should detest you if I were Max," said Nick, squeezing her affectionately with his one wiry arm.
"It isn't my fault we are antipathetic," protested Olga. "For goodness' sake, Nick, don't start liking him! But I'm sure you don't in your heart of hearts. You simply couldn't."
"Why not?" said Nick.
"Oh, Nick, you don't! You know you don't! He's so cold-blooded and cynical."
"Do you want to know what he was up to last night?" said Nick.
"Yes, tell me!" said Olga.
"He was sent for last thing by some people who live in that filthy alley—near the green pond. A child was choking. They thought it had swallowed a pin. When he got there, he found it was diphtheria at its most advanced stage. The child was at death's door. He had to perform an operation at a moment's notice, hadn't got the proper paraphernalia with him, and sucked the poison out himself."
"Good heavens, Nick!" said Olga, turning very white. "And the child?"
"The child is better. It is to be taken to the hospital to-day."
"Will it—won't it—have an effect on him?" gasped Olga.
"Heavens knows," said Nick.
"And that's why he didn't come down to breakfast," she said. "How did you find out about it? He didn't tell you?"
"He couldn't help it," said Nick. "He stole my bath this morning, and when I arrived he was lying in it face downwards boiling himself in some filthy disinfectant that made the bathroom temporarily uninhabitable. Naturally I lodged a complaint, and finally got at the whole story. By the way, he said I wasn' to tell you; but I told him I probably should. That's only a detail, but I mention it in case you should be tempted to broach the subject to him. I shouldn't advise you to do so, as I think you will probably find him rather touchy about it."
"But, Nick!" Olga's eyes had begun to shine. "It was very—fine of him," she said. "I wish I'd known before I was so cross to him. I—I should have made allowances if I had known."
"Quite so," said Nick. "Well, you can begin now if you feel so inclined, though I suppose the young man did no more than his duty after all."
"Oh, Nick, a man isn't obliged to go so far as that!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "There are plenty who wouldn't."
"Doubtless," agreed Nick, looking faintly quizzical. "It was the action of a fool—but a brave fool. We'll grant him that much, shall we?"
She laughed a little, her cheek against his shoulder. "Don't poke fun at me! It isn't fair. You know he isn't a fool perfectly well."
"By Jove! You are getting magnanimous!" laughed Nick.
"No, I'm not. I'm only trying to be fair. One must be that," said Olga, whose honest soul abhorred injustice of any description.
"Oh, of course," said Nick. "You'll have to spoil him now to make up for having been so—'horrid,' I think, is the proper term, isn't it? It's the most comprehensive word in the woman's vocabulary, comprising everything from slightly disagreeable to damned offensive."
"Really, Nick!"
Nick grinned. "Pardon my unparliamentary language!"
"But Nick, I've never been—that!" protested Olga.
"A matter of opinion!" laughed Nick.
But Olga did not laugh, she only flushed a little and changed the subject.
About an hour later, Max, taking his hat from a peg in the hall, preparatory to departing for the cottage-hospital, discovered the lining thereof to be pulled away in order to accommodate a twisted scrap of paper which had been pinned to it in evident haste.
He carried the hat to the consulting-room and there detached and examined its contents. He smoothed out the crumpled morsel with his customary deliberation, drawing his shaggy red brows together over a few lines of minute writing which became visible as he did so.
"Dear Max," he read, "I'm sorry I've been a beast to you lately. Please don't take any notice of this but let us just be friends for the future. Yours,
"Olga."
There was no mockery in the green eyes as they deciphered the impulsive note, nor did the somewhat hard lips smile. Max stood for some seconds after reading it, staring fixedly at the paper, and when at length he looked up his face wore a guarded expression with which many of his patients were familiar. He took a pocket-book from an inner pocket and laid the crumpled scrap within it. Then, without more ado, he put on his hat and departed.
Olga was by that time spinning merrily along the road to Brethaven, having parted with Nick at the railway-station. Violet was seated beside her, and the old servant Mitchel sat sourly behind them. He had a rooted objection to the back-seat, and held the opinion that a woman at the wheel was out of place.
Olga, however, was not prepared to yield on this point at least. She had brought him against her will, and she meant to forget him if possible. But it was not long before Violet had extracted from her an account of the discussion that had resulted in Mitchel's unwilling presence. She was not very anxious to supply the information, but Violet was insistent and soon possessed herself of the full details of the argument which she seemed to find highly amusing.
"Oh, my dear, he's in love with me of course!" she said "I discovered that the first night I was with you. Hence his solicitude."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Olga.
"What! You haven't noticed it? My dear child, where are your eyes?
Haven't you seen the way he watches me?"
Yes, Olga had seen it; but somehow she did not think it meant that. She said so rather hesitatingly.
"What else could it mean?" laughed Violet. "But you needn't be afraid, dear. I'm not going to have him. He's much too anatomical for me, too business-like and professional altogether. I'd sooner die than have him attend me."
"Would you?" said Olga. "But why? He's very clever."
"That's just it. He's too clever to have any imagination. He would be quite unscrupulous, quite merciless, and utterly without sympathy. Can't you picture him making you endure any amount of torture just to enable him to say he had cured you? Oh yes, he's diabolically clever, but he is cruel too. He would take the shortest cut, whatever it meant. He wouldn't care what agony he inflicted so long as he gained his end and made you live."
"I don't think he is quite so callous as that," Olga said, but even as she said it she wondered.
"You will if he ever has to doctor you," rejoined Violet. "I wonder what
Mrs. Briggs thought of him. We'll find out to-day."
Mrs. Briggs was the daughter of the old woman who had died the preceding week at "The Ship Inn," whither they were bound that morning. She had nursed Violet in her infancy, and was a privileged acquaintance
