"I've got it here."
Olga started violently. Any voice would have given her a surprise at that moment, but the voice of Max Wyndham was an absolute shock that set every nerve on edge.
He laughed at her from the sofa, on which he sprawled at length. "My good child, your nerves are like fiddle-strings after a frost. Remind me to make you up a tonic when we get back! Did you bicycle over?"
Olga ignored the question. She was for the moment too angry to speak.
"Sit down," he said. "You ought to know better than to scorch on a day like this. You deserve a sunstroke."
"I didn't scorch," declared Olga, stung by this injustice. "I'm not such an idiot. You seem to think I haven't any sense at all!"
"My thoughts are my own," said Max. "Why didn't you say you were coming?
You could have motored over with me."
"I didn't so much as know you would be in this direction. How could I?" said Olga. "And even if I had known—" she, paused.
"You would have preferred sunstroke?" he suggested.
"That I can quite believe. Well, here is the book!" He swung his legs off the sofa. "I dropped in to fetch it myself, as your good uncle seemed to want it, and then became so absorbed in its pages that I couldn't put it down. We seem to have a rotten Constitution altogether. Wonder whose fault it is."
Olga took the book with a slight, contemptuous glance. That he had been interested in the subject for a single moment she did not believe. She wondered that he deemed it worth his while to feign interest.
"Are you taking a holiday to-day?" she enquired bluntly.
He smiled at that. "I cut off an old man's toe at the cottage hospital this morning, vaccinated four babies, pulled out a tooth, and dressed a scald. What more would you have? I suppose you don't want to be vaccinated by any chance?"
Olga passed the flippant question over. "It's a half-holiday then, is it?" she said.
"Well, as it happens, fair lady, it is, all thanks to Dame Stubbs of 'The Ship Inn' who summoned me hither with great urgency and then was ungrateful enough to die before I reached her."
"Oh!" exclaimed Olga. "Is old Mrs. Stubbs dead?"
"She is," said Max.
She turned upon him. "And you've just come—from her death-bed?"
He arose and stretched himself. "Even so, fair lady."
Olga stared at him incredulously. "You actually—don't care?" she asked slowly.
"Not much good caring," said Max.
"What did she die of?" questioned Olga.
He hesitated for a second. Then, "cancer," he said briefly.
"Did she suffer much?" She asked the question nervously as if she feared the answer.
"It doesn't matter, does it?" said Max, thrusting his hands into his pockets.
"I don't see why you shouldn't tell me that." Olga spoke with a flash of indignation. "It does matter in my opinion."
"Nothing that's past matters," said Max.
"I don't agree with you!" Hotly she made answer, inexplicably hurt by his callous tone. "It matters a lot to me. She was a friend of mine. If I had known she was seriously ill, I'd have gone to see her. You—I think you might have told me."
She turned with the words as if to go, but Max coolly stepped to the door before her. He stretched a hand as if to open it, but paused, holding it closed.
"I was not aware that the old woman was a friend of yours," he said. "But it wouldn't have done much good to anyone if you had seen her. She probably wouldn't have known you."
"I might have taken her things at least," said Olga.
"Which she wouldn't have touched," he rejoined.
She clenched her hands unconsciously. Why was he so maddeningly cold-blooded?
"Do you mind opening the door?" she said.
But he remained motionless, his hand upon it. "Do you mind telling me where you are going?" he said.
Her eyes blazed. "Really, Dr. Wyndham, what is that to you?"
He stood up squarely and faced her, his back against the door. "I will answer your question when you have answered mine."
She restrained herself with an effort. How she hated the man! Conflict with him made her feel physically sick; and yet she had no choice.
"I am going down to 'The Ship' at once," she said, "to see her daughter."
"Pardon me!" said Max. "I thought that was your intention. I am sorry to have to frustrate it, but I must. I assure you Mrs. Briggs will have plenty of other visitors to keep her amused."
"I am going nevertheless," said Olga.
She saw his jaw coming into sudden prominence, and her heart gave a hard quick throb of misgiving. They stood face to face in the dimness, neither uttering a word.
Several seconds passed. The green eyes were staring at the bookshelves beyond Olga, but it was a stony, pitiless stare. Had he any idea as to how formidable he looked, she wondered? Surely—surely he did not mean to keep her against her will! He could not!
She collected herself and spoke. "Dr. Wyndham, will you let me go?"
Instantly his eyes met hers. "Certainly," he said, "if you will promise me first not to go to 'The Ship' till after the funeral."
She felt her face gradually whitening. "But I mean to go. Why shouldn't
I?"
"Simply because it wouldn't be good for you," he made calm reply.
"How ridiculous!" They were the only words that occurred to her. She spoke them with vehemence.
He received them in silence, and she saw that a greater effort would be necessary if she hoped to assert her independence with any success.
It was essential that she should do so, and she braced herself for a more determined attempt. "Dr. Wyndham," she said, throwing as much command into her voice as she could muster, "open that door—at once!"
She saw again that glint in his eyes that seemed to mock her weakness.
He stood his ground. "Fair lady," he said, "with regret I refuse."
She made a sharp movement forward, nerved for the fray by sheer all-possessing anger. She gripped the handle of the door above his hand and gave it a sharp wrench. He would not—surely he would not—struggle with her! Surely she must discomfit him—rout him utterly—by this means!
Yes, she had won! The sheer unexpectedness of her action
