Her hand leaped suddenly in his. So that was the explanation! She began to tremble. "I—didn't understand," she said piteously.
She wished he would turn his eyes from her face, but he kept them fixed upon her. "I wonder who got the credit for it," he said.
She turned from his scrutiny in quivering silence. But her hand remained in his.
He took her gently by the shoulder. "Olga, tell me!" he said.
"I didn't know it came from you," she whispered.
"Why not? I wrote a line with it."
"Yes, but—but—"
"But—" said Max, with quiet insistence.
She tried to laugh. "It was very absurd of me. The initials weren't very clear. I thought they were—someone else's."
"Noel's?" he said.
She nodded.
There was a brief silence, during which she dared not look round. Then he spoke, his voice drily humorous. "I suppose you thanked him for it then?"
"No, I didn't," she said. "At least—at least—I was vexed, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
"No?" said Max, in the same cynical tone.
Her hand slipped free at last. She spoke more firmly. "I told him I couldn't accept it."
"Poor Noel!" observed Max. He took his hand from her shoulder also, and she knew that he thrust it into his pocket. "And what did he say to that?"
She hesitated. "Well, of course he—he explained—that he hadn't sent it."
"And you believed him?"
"Of course I did. He—we thought perhaps it was a hoax."
Max grunted; she wondered if he were seriously displeased. And then abruptly he turned her thoughts in another direction. "Well, now that you know the truth,—what are you going to do about it?"
The question came with the utmost coolness, but yet in some fashion it sounded like a challenge. She felt compelled to turn and face him.
Thick-set and British, he confronted her. "Before you decide," he said, "there's just one little thing I should like you to remember. You may not have been in love with me—I don't think you were; but you engaged yourself to me quite a long time ago."
Olga's hands were locked together. But she met the challenge unflinching, unafraid. Quite suddenly she knew how to answer it. Yet she waited, not answering, her pale eyes shining, her whole being strung to throbbing expectation.
He came a step nearer to her, looking at her very intently. "Well?" he said.
She made a little fluttering movement with her clasped hands. Her face was raised unfalteringly to his. "I haven't forgotten," she said.
"But you thought I had," said Max.
Her lips quivered. "So many things have happened since then," she said, in a low voice.
"What of that?" he said, and suddenly there was a deep note in his voice that she had never heard before. "Do you think that so long as the world holds us both I would be content without you?"
The words were few, but they thrilled her as never had she been thrilled before. There came again to her that breathless feeling as though an immense wave had suddenly burst over her. She raised her face gasping, half-frightened. She even had a wild impulse to turn and flee.
But it was gone on the instant, for very suddenly Max Wyndham's arms closed about her, holding her fast, and she had no choice but to surrender. With a sob she yielded herself to him, clinging very tightly, her face hidden with a desperate shyness against his shoulder.
He spoke no word of love, simply holding her in silence during those first great moments. But at length his hand came up and lay quietly, reassuringly, upon her head. She quivered under it for a little. He waited till she was still.
"Olga," he said then, speaking very softly, "will you tell me something?"
"Perhaps," she whispered back.
"Why are you afraid of me? You never used to be."
She clung a little closer to him and was silent.
"Don't you know?" he said.
"Not altogether." Tremulously she made answer.
"I've had a feeling—all this time—that you were angry with me for some reason."
"For what reason?" he said.
"That's what I never could remember."
The hand upon her head moved and lightly stroked her cheek; then very gently but with evident determination turned her face upwards. His eyes, green and piercing, looked straight into her soul.
"You think that still?" he asked.
"No." Panting, she answered him; for deep within her, memory stirred afresh. The phantom of her dread lurked once more darkly in the background. The last time those eyes had searched her thus, her soul had been in agony. Wherefore? Wherefore? She struggled to remember.
And then in a flash all was gone. The past went from her. She was back again in the present, with the throbbing consciousness of Max's arms enfolding her, and the overwhelming knowledge that Max loved her filling all her world.
"You're not afraid now," he said.
"No," she answered softly.
"Then—" he set her free, bending to her, his face close to hers—"I may go on 'breathing and hoping,' may I, without running any risk of scaring you away?"
She laughed—a faint, sweet laugh more eloquent than words, realizing fully that, albeit her defences were down, he would not enter her citadel until she gave him leave.
His chivalrous regard for her went straight to her heart. In Noel it would not have surprised her, but in Max it was so unexpected that for a moment she hardly knew how to meet it.
He waited with the utmost patience, his smile, subtly softened but still unmistakably humorous, hovering at the corner of his mouth.
And so after a moment, half-laughing, with a face on fire, she reached out, took the red head between her hands, and bestowed a very small, shy kiss upon his cheek.
The next instant he held her crushed against his heart while his lips pressed hers with all the fiery passion of a man's worship….
It must have been several minutes later that a cracked voice was suddenly uplifted in the verandah singing a plantation love-song with more of pathos than tunefulness.
Olga started at the sound, started violently and guiltily, and slipped out of reach with a scarlet countenance.
"Nick!" she whispered.
Max glanced at the open window, raised his brows, shrugged his shoulders, and strolled across to it. Nick it was, stationed at a discreet distance, but dimly discernible in the darkness.
"Let me go to him first!" murmured Olga.
She passed Max with a touch of the hand and a fleeting smile, and was gone.
Nick's plaintive lament came to an abrupt conclusion two seconds later, and Max turned back into the room with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and one side of his mouth cocked at an angle expressive of extreme satisfaction. He had dared a good deal that day, far more than Olga vaguely dreamed, and events had proved him more than justified.
CHAPTER X
A TALK IN THE OPEN
Noel dined with the Musgraves that night. His mood was hilarious throughout, but he seemed for some reason unwilling to discuss the adventure he had shared with Olga in the temple, and of their rescuer he scarcely spoke at all. He seemed in fact to have practically dismissed the whole matter from his mind, and when he bade them farewell at the end of the evening Daisy acknowledged to her husband that she was disappointed.
"I felt so sure he had begun to care for Olga," she said. "He doesn't often miss his opportunities, that boy."
"Perhaps Olga doesn't chance to care for him," suggested Will, with his arm round his wife's waist. "That does happen sometimes, you know."
She smiled, her cheek against his shoulder. "I can't imagine any girl resisting Noel's charms if he were the first comer—as I fancy he must be," she said.
"I wonder if he is," said Will. "She told me the other night she had never been in love, but she seemed to know so much about the disease that I rather doubted her veracity."
"Fancy your living to call it a disease!" said Daisy, with a faint sigh.
He stooped and kissed her. "Oh, I'm not a cynic, my dear," he said.
"Shall we call it an incurable affection of the heart instead?"
"That's almost as bad," she protested.
"I said incurable," pleaded Will. "I ought to know, for I fell a victim to it long ago."
She laughed softly against his shoulder. "Well, if you will have it so, it's very infectious, you know. And I am a victim too."
His arm tightened. "Mine was always a hopeless case, Daisy," he murmured half wistfully.
She turned her lips up to his. "When it attacks old folks—like you and me, dear—it always is," she said.
He kissed her again, lingeringly and in silence. There had been a time of which neither ever spoke when Will's love for his wife had been to her a thing of little value. He had not been the first comer. That time had passed long since, and with it the last of their youth. But though for them romance was no more, they had become lovers in a sense more true. Their lives were bound up together and woven into one by the Loom of God.
Whatever opportunities Noel might have missed that day, he certainly did not permit the thought of them to depress him. With his customary jauntiness, he took his departure; but he did not return straight to his quarters at the cantonments. He turned his steps in the direction of the dâk-bungalow, whistling in the starlight as he went.
A chilly wind was blowing, and the dust swirled about his feet. The road gleamed white and deserted before him. He swung along it, erect and British, caring nothing for dust or cold. From far away, in the direction of the jungle, there came the desolate cry of a jackal; but near at hand there was no sound but the rush of the wind past his ears and the swish of the dust along the way.
He came at length within sight of the dâk-bungalow and saw beyond it the lights of the native city. Nick's bungalow, tucked away amongst its trees, was not visible.
"They're horribly near that treacherous hound," he murmured to himself, as he strode along. "I wonder if Nick realizes the risk. They might be murdered in their beds any night, and none of us down at the cantonments any the wiser. The Rajah and old Kobad Shikan would be horrified of course. It's so easy to be horrified—afterwards."
Unconsciously he quickened his steps. Somehow the danger had always seemed remote until that night. Had the day's adventure unsettled his nerves, or had he hitherto always underrated it? How ghastly it would be if—His thoughts broke off short. A figure had detached itself from the vagueness in front of him, and a whiff of rank tobacco smoke came suddenly to his nostrils.
Noel straightened himself and quickened his stride. He had the soldier's instinct for making the most of his height. The square, lounging figure that sauntered towards him looked almost short by comparison.
They met about fifty yards from the dâk-bungalow. "Hullo!" said Max.
His tone was coolly fraternal, but his hand came out at the same time and Noel remembered the grip of it for some minutes after.
"What on earth have you come out here for?" he said.
Max smoked a pipe in one corner of his mouth and smiled with the other.
"Like the girls," he said, "I've come out to get married."
"You're not going to marry Olga!" said Noel quickly and fiercely.
"That's just what I want to talk to you about," said Max. "Shall we walk?" He took his brother by the arm and led him forward. "I thought a talk in the open would be preferable. My hutch in this beastly little inn is not precisely inviting. I go to Nick's bungalow to-morrow."
"The devil you do!" said Noel.
The hand on his arm was not removed. It closed very slowly and surely. "Look here, old chap," Max said, "say what you like to me and welcome, if it does you any good. But there is no actual necessity for you to express your feelings. For I know what they are; and—I'm infernally sorry."
The words were quietly uttered, but they sent a shock of amazement through Noel. He stood still and stared. He had never heard anything of the kind from Max before.
Steadily Max drew him on. "When I wrote you that letter in the autumn, I meant you to do exactly what you have done. I didn't of course anticipate playing such a heathen trick on you as cutting you out. I regarded myself at that time as out of the running. Circumstances which there is no need to discuss had set dead against me, and I had reason to believe that she might need an able-bodied man's protection. Nick is all very well as a moral force, but physically he is a negligible quantity. I didn't fancy the idea of her coming out here with the chance of the aforementioned danger cropping up."
"What danger?" said Noel, abruptly.
Max hesitated a moment. "It's rather a long story. There was another fellow—a great hulking bounder. I was half afraid he might follow her out here and make himself objectionable. I thought you would probably get friendly with her, and she might turn to you for help if she needed it. You're the sort of chap a woman would turn to. And anyhow, I know you're sound fundamentally."
"Do you?" murmured Noel.
Max went on. "At that time I never thought of coming out here myself. It was Nick who first suggested it at a time when I believed my chances to be nil. And gradually the idea took hold of me. We had been almost engaged before. And though I didn't believe in my luck any longer, I thought I would have one last shot. Kersley backed me as usual. I am to go into partnership with him when I get back. He urged me to come, even said I owed it to her. I wasn't so sure of that myself, but events have proved him justified. I thought in any case I should only hurt myself and that wouldn't matter much. Afraid I behaved like a selfish ass. But I didn't know how far matters had gone, or even if they were likely to move at all. She isn't the sort of girl that attracts at first sight. It never occurred to me to be attracted till I found out how badly she disliked me. Then I used to bait her, and I liked her spirit. After that—" an odd, tender note had crept into his voice; he stopped abruptly.
Noel set his teeth and tramped along in dogged silence.
For a few seconds Max followed his example; then took up his discourse at the final point. "So I chanced a final throw and came out here; I thought at the worst she could only send me away again, and I should be no more badly off than I was before. Well, I got here, and the first thing. I heard was that Nick was giving a picnic at Khantali, and that there was a man-eater there. My informant was a native groom at the inn. He seemed to believe in the man-eater, and as I had equipped myself with a Winchester with the idea of solacing myself with big game when I had been given my congé, I armed myself and went to have a look for him. You know the rest. I must admit I was nearly as staggered as she was when I saw her come out of the temple. As soon as I had a moment for thought, it occurred to me that I should be probably one too many if I presented myself then. It was your chance, not mine; so I decided with your connivance to lie low. This evening I called to see the result. I fully expected to be told that you and she were engaged, and I went prepared to congratulate. But directly I saw her, I knew that it was otherwise. And I realized that my luck had turned."
"She accepted you?" Curt and straight came the words.
"She did." Calmly and deliberately Max made answer. "I had sent her a ring earlier in the day, which little attention, it seems, she had attributed to you."
"Yes; she tried to return it this morning." Noel spoke with his eyes fixed straight ahead.
"She is wearing it to-night," said Max.
Noel tramped on again in silence.
Suddenly he stopped, facing round upon his brother with a gesture that was openly passionate. "Damn it, Max! You're deuced cool, I must say! Aren't there girls enough in England without your posting out here to take the one I want? She's half in love with me already. I'd have won her over in another week—in less! Very likely to-morrow!"
Max stood still. They had nearly reached the gate that led into Nick's compound. The rustle of the cypresses in the night-wind came to them as they faced each other. Noel's hands were clenched, Max's well out of sight in the depths of his pockets.
He did not speak at once, but there was no hint of irresolution in his attitude.
"Yes," he said, after a moment. "You jolly nearly died for her, and if anyone has a right to her, you have. But, my dear chap, you can't get away from the fact that she was mine before you ever met her. I know that now. I didn't before to-night, though so far as I am concerned, she has been the only girl in the world for a very long time. Not knowing it, I'd have been quite ready—I'd be ready now—for you to have her; glad even. But knowing it—well, it rather alters the case, doesn't it? You see," his mouth twisted a little in the old cynical curve, "we can't hand her about and barter for her like a bale of goods. She's a woman; and—whether we like it or not—in these things the woman must have the casting vote."
"It's so beastly unfair!" Noel broke in hotly, boyishly. "Why the devil couldn't you stay away a little longer?"
"And suppose I had!" For the first time Max spoke sternly. "Suppose I
had!" he repeated, with eyes that suddenly shot green in the starlight.
"Suppose you had won her before I came—suppose you'd been engaged, and
I had come along afterwards! What then?"
"You'd have been too late," said Noel, the dogged note in his voice.
"You wouldn't have set her free?" Max flung the question with brief contempt.
"No!" Noel flung back the answer fiercely.
"Not if you had known she cared for me first?" Max's voice was suddenly quiet and chill. It expressed a cold curiosity, no more.
Noel writhed before it. "Confound you, no!" he cried violently.
There fell a sudden deep silence. Max stood quite motionless during the passage of seconds, watching, waiting, while Noel stood before him, fiercely threatening.
Then, very abruptly, as if he had suddenly discovered that there was nothing to wait for, he turned on his heel.
"Good-night!" he said, and walked away.
He went with his customary, sauntering gait, but there was absolute decision in his movements. It was quite obvious that he had no intention of returning.
And Noel made no attempt to call him back. He stood with his black brows drawn, and dumbly watched him go.
At the end of thirty seconds, he wheeled slowly round, and turned his sullen face towards Nick's bungalow. As he did so, there was a slight movement near the gate as of someone stealthily retreating.
Instantly suspicion leaped, keen-edged with anxiety, into his brain. In a flash his former fears rushed back upon him. They were so horribly near the native city, so horribly undefended. He remembered the bomb on the parade-ground, and felt momentarily physically sick.
In another instant he was speeding to the open gate. He turned sharply in between the cypresses, and was met by a white-clad, cringing figure that bowed to the earth at his approach.
Noel stopped dead in sheer astonishment. So sudden had been the apparition that he scarcely restrained himself from running into it. Then, being in no pacific mood, his astonishment passed into a blaze of anger.
"What the devil are you sneaking about here for?" he demanded. "What are you doing?"
The muffled figure before him made another deep salaam. "Heaven-born, I am but a humble seller of moonstones. Will his gracious excellency be pleased to behold his servant's wares?"
It was ingratiatingly spoken—the soft answer that should have turned away wrath; but Noel's tolerance was a minus quantity that night. Moreover, he had had a severe fright, and his Irish blood was up.
"You may have moonstones," he said, "but you didn't come here to sell them. The city's full of you infernal budmashes. It's a pity you can't be exterminated like the vermin you are. Be off with you, and if I ever catch you skulking round here again, I'll give you a leathering that you'll never forget for the rest of your rascally life!"
The moonstone-seller bowed again profoundly. "Yet even a rat has its bite," he murmured in a deferential undertone into his beard.
He turned aside, still darkly muttering, and shuffled past Noel towards the road.
Noel swung round on his heel as he did so, and administered a flying kick by way of assisting his departure. Possibly it was somewhat more forcible than he intended; at least it was totally unexpected. The moonstone-seller stumbled forward with a grunt, barely saving himself from falling headlong.
A momentary compunction pricked Noel, for the man was obviously old, and, by the peculiar fashion in which he recovered his balance, he seemed to be crippled also. But the next moment he was laughing, though his mood was far from hilarious. For, with an agility as comical as it was surprising, the moonstone-seller gathered up his impeding garment and fled.
He was gone like a shadow; the garden lay deserted; Noel's bitterness of soul returned. He glanced towards the darkness of the cypresses where they had walked only that morning, and a great misery rose and engulfed his spirit. A second or two he stood hesitating, irresolute. Should he go in and see her? Vividly her pale face came before him, but glorified with a radiance that was not for him. No, he could not endure it. By to-morrow he would have schooled himself. To-morrow he would wish her joy. But to-night—to-night—he drained the cup of disappointment for the first time in his gay young life and found it bitter as gall.
With a fierce gesture he flung round and tramped away.
CHAPTER XI
THE FAITHFUL WOUND OF A FRIEND
All the social circle of Sharapura and most of the native population usually assembled on the polo-ground to witness the great annual match between the Rajah's team and the officers stationed at the cantonments. It was to be followed by a dance at the mess-house in the evening, to which all English residents far and near had been bidden, and which the Rajah himself and his chief Minister, Kobad Shikan, had promised to attend.
The day was a brilliant one, and Olga looked forward to its festivities with a light heart. The thought of Noel was the only bitter drop in her cup of happiness, but instinct told her that his wound would be but a superficial one. She was sorry on his behalf, but not overwhelmingly so. As Nick had wisely observed, it would be far more fitting for him to wait and marry Peggy Musgrave. They were eminently well suited to each other, and would be playfellows all their lives.
She expected Max to present himself in the course of the morning, and he did not disappoint her. He made his casual appearance soon after Nick had departed for the Palace, and found her in the garden. Not alone, however, for Daisy had arrived before him to see how Olga fared after the previous day's adventure.
Max, strolling out to them, was met by Olga in a glowing embarrassment which he was far from sharing, and introduced forthwith to Daisy as "Noel's brother."
Daisy, who had just been listening to a somewhat halting account of his unexpected arrival the day before, marked her very evident confusion and leaped to instant comprehension. So this was the cause of Noel's reticence! She shook hands with Max with a very decided sense of disappointment, resenting his intrusion on Noel's behalf, and with womanly criticism marvelling that this thick-set unromantic Englishman could ever have held the girl's fancy when Noel, the handsomest officer in the district, had been so obviously at her feet.
She heaved a little sigh for Noel even while she said, smiling, "I have just been hearing of your dramatic arrival yesterday, Dr. Wyndham. You could scarcely have chosen a more thrilling moment."
He smiled also, with slight cynicism. "Yes, there were plenty of thrills for all of us," he said. "Have you heard the latest?"
Daisy's eyes travelled from him to Olga, who stretched out her left hand, bearing Max's ring upon it, and said, very sweetly and impulsively: "Oh, Mrs. Musgrave, I was just going to tell you about it. Please don't think me deceitful! It—it—it only happened last night."
"My darling child!" Daisy said. She took the outstretched, trembling hand and folded it in a soft, warm clasp. Her eyes went back to Max, whose expression became more ironical than ever under her scrutiny. It was as if he observed and grimly ridiculed her jealousy on his brother's behalf. And Daisy's resentment turned to a decided sense of hostility. She discovered quite suddenly but also quite unmistakably that she was not going to like this young man.
She was sure the green eyes under their shaggy red brows saw and mocked her antipathy. There was even a touch of insolence about him as he said: "I'm afraid it's taken your breath away, but it is not such a sudden arrangement as it appears. Strange to say all women don't fall in love with me at first sight. Olga, for instance, did quite the reverse, didn't you, Olga?"
His eyes mocked Olga now openly and complacently. Daisy told herself indignantly that she had never in her life witnessed anything so disgustingly cold-blooded. He positively revolted her. She saw him as a husband, selfish, supercilious, accepting with condescension his young wife's eager devotion, and her congratulations died on her lips. For Daisy was a woman with whom a man's homage counted for much. She had been accustomed to it all her life and its absence was an offence unpardonable. And then suddenly Olga overcame her shyness, and boldly came to the rescue.
"Max, don't make Mrs. Musgrave think you a beast! It isn't fair to me. He isn't a bit like this really," she added to Daisy. "It's all affectation. Nick knows that."
Daisy laughed. The girlish speech helped her, if it did not remove her doubts.
She gave her free hand to Max, saying, "I suppose we are none of us ourselves to strangers, but, since you are engaged to Olga, I hope you will not place me in that category. You are very, very lucky to have won her, and I wish you both every happiness."
Max bowed, still with a hint of irony. "It's nice of you not to condole with Olga," he said. "I feel inclined to myself. Perhaps, if I am not wanted, I may be allowed to go and have a smoke on the verandah. I am expecting my traps to turn up directly," he added to Olga.
"Oh, we must come and see about them," she said. "The khit will show you your room. Max is going to put up with us now," she told Daisy, with a smile that pleaded with her friend to be lenient.
Daisy's hand still held hers. "That is nice, dear," she said. "I must be getting back to Peggy. Is your fiancé coming to the regimental dance to-night?"
"Oh, Max,"—Olga's eyes shone upon him,—"you will, won't you? But of course you will. Noel will have settled that."
The corner of Max's mouth went down. "Noel is not in the habit of settling my affairs great or small," he observed. "If I go at all, it will be in the little god's train and under his auspices alone. But I warn you I'm not much of a dancer."
"What nonsense!" said Olga. "All doctors dance. It's part of their hospital training."
"Is it?" said Max. "Then my medical education is incomplete. My partners generally prefer to sit out after the first round."
"I shan't sit out with anyone," declared Olga. "It's such a waste of time. One can do that any day."
"So one can," said Max. "I hope you are not hurrying away on my account,
Mrs. Musgrave. My business here is not urgent. It will very well wait."
He was evidently in an incurably cynical mood, and Olga gave him up in despair. She went with Daisy to the gate, and, with her arms round her neck, besought her, half-laughing, not to be misled by appearances.
"I was myself," she confessed. "I actually hated him once. But now—but now—"
"But now it's all right," smiled Daisy. "Run back to him, dear child! I should imagine he is the sort of young man who doesn't like to be kept waiting."
That was all the criticism she permitted herself, but Olga, returning slowly to Max on the verandah, was regretfully aware that the impression he had made upon this friend of hers was far from favourable.
"It isn't nice of you, Max," she began, as she reached him. "It really isn't nice of you."
But she got no further than that for the moment, for Max literally lifted her off her feet, holding her fast in his arms while he kissed the colour into her white face, finally lowering her into Nick's favourite hammock and dexterously settling her therein.
"You shouldn't!" she protested feebly. "You shouldn't! And indeed I'm not going to lie here."
"You are going to do as you are told, fair lady," he responded grimly.
"What have you been lying awake half the night for?"
"I didn't," she began. "At least—" seeing his look of open incredulity—"it couldn't have been so long as that. And I—I had a lot of things to think about. No, Max, you're not to feel my pulse! Max, I won't have it!"
She pulled desperately, and freed herself. Max thrust his hands into his pockets, faintly smiling, and stood over her, contemplating her.
"Well, tell me all the things you had to think about!" he said.
She shook her head, flushed still and slightly distressed. "No, Max."
He stooped over her, searching her face. "Do you like being engaged,
Olga?" he asked.
She sat up quickly and leaned against him, her hands clasped upon his arm.
"I'm happy enough to—to want to cry," she said, a slight catch in her voice.
He held her closely again, her head against his heart. "No, that's not the reason," he said softly into her ear. "Something is bothering you, isn't it?"
She swallowed once or twice and nodded. "I'm—foolish," she managed to utter after a moment.
"Never mind if you can't help it!" he said. "Tell me what it's about!"
But she was silent.
"Afraid I shan't understand?" he questioned.
Her hand nestled into his, but she kept her face down. "I wrote a long, long letter to Dad last night," she remarked irrelevantly, after a pause. "He—I'm afraid he'll be rather surprised."
"I wonder," said Max.
She glanced up for an instant. "Did he know you were coming out here to me?" she asked.
"He did." There was a queer note of dry exultation in Max's reply.
"Oh, Max!" Her head went back to its resting-place. "He thought I didn't like you, you know. What—what did he say?"
"He told me I was a fool," said Max.
Olga laughed. "Dear Dad! I suppose he thought you were wasting your time over a wild goose chase."
"Yes; he didn't anticipate my catching my wild goose, I admit. Kersley on the other hand was so confident that he practically hoofed me out of England. He wants a married partner, you know, so perhaps he was not altogether disinterested."
Again the complacent note sounded in Max's voice.
Olga's fingers closed tightly on his hand. "Is that why you are so anxious to get married?" she asked, in a muffled voice.
Max's fingers responded so swiftly and so mercilessly that she cried out with the pain. "Max! How brutal!"
"You deserved it," said Max without compunction.
"But I didn't! I only asked a simple question," she protested.
"No, you didn't; it was a compound one." He opened his hand and sternly regarded the crushed fingers. "If you develop claws, Olga," he said, "you must expect trouble."
She laughed again. "It isn't a question of developing: they're there—full-grown. Do you remember that day I stabbed you with my darning-needle?"
"I do," said Max. He turned his hand over and showed her a small white scar on the back. "I suppose you never realized that that was the beginning of everything?"
"It wasn't with me!" declared Olga. "I could have slain you that night!"
"Because I told you you ought to be whipped," said Max. "It was quite true, you know. Dr. Jim would have said the same. He would probably have done it too."
"I'm sure he wouldn't!" Olga lay back in the hammock with the scarred hand between her own. "Dad is very just. He would have realized that you were quite insufferable."
"That wouldn't have justified you, my child," maintained Max.
She snapped her fingers at him. "I'd do it again to-day if you were as horrid as you were then."
"Not you!" said Max.
She opened her eyes. "You think I wouldn't dare?"
He looked back at her with composure. "It is more a matter of caring than daring, my dear," he said. "Your heart wouldn't be in it. But you are afraid of me all the same."
She coloured and turned the subject. "When is Sir Kersley going to make you his partner?"
"Directly I return," said Max.
"And when will that be?"
He considered a moment. "I expect to reach England in a month from now."
"Max!" She sat up again quickly. "Oh, you're not going so soon!" she said.
He put his arm round her shoulders. "But you will be coming back yourself in April. Nick told me so."
"In April! But that's æons away!" protested Olga.
His eyes looked down into hers, and the old gleam which once she had taken for mockery hovered there. Her own eyes flickered and sank before it. There was something quick and fiery in it that she could not meet.
"I'll take you back with me," he said, "if you will come."
She started a little. "Oh, no!" she said.
"Why 'Oh, no'?" he enquired.
She was silent for a moment, her face downcast. "I couldn't leave
Nick—possibly—out here," she said then.
"Why not? Can't the little god take care of himself?"
"No. And I wouldn't let him if he could. I shouldn't feel easy about him. He—he—I feel as if he is trying to walk a tight rope every day."
"It's a sort of thing he ought to do very well, I should say," observed
Max. "But what is he doing it for?"
She looked up. "He thinks he is getting on splendidly," she said. "He and the Rajah are such friends! But the Rajah isn't everybody, and I'm not sure even of him. Someone tried to blow up the fort with a bomb not so very long ago."
"Oh, that's the game, is it?" said Max. "You think a similar little joke might be played on Nick, and if so you want to be there to see."
She smiled faintly, in a sense relieved that he did not treat the matter too seriously. "It makes one a little nervous for him," she said, "though of course there may be no reason for it."
"I see," said Max. "It's just a nightmare, is it?"
He was watching her intently, and under his look her heart quickened a little.
"It may be all nonsense, yes," she admitted. "But in any case I won't leave Nick out here. He is in my special charge."
He laughed. "Well, there's no appealing against that. You will be home in April then. Will you marry me on Midsummer Day?"
Olga's eyelids flickered and fell. "I must think about it," she said.
He pinched her cheek. "Say Yes," he said.
She turned her face impulsively; her lips just touched his hand. "I wonder if I shall, Max," she said.
"Say Yes," he repeated, still softly but with insistence.
She leaned her head against him. "I'd like to say Yes," she said. "But somehow—somehow—I have a feeling that—that—"
"My dear," said Max very practically, "don't be silly!"
She turned and clung to him very tightly. "Max, I—I've got something—on my mind."
His arm, very steady and strong, grew close about her. "Tell me!" he said.
Haltingly she complied. "You will think me morbid. I can't help it. Max, all last night—all last night—I felt as if—as if a spirit were with me—calling—calling—calling, trying to make me understand something, trying to—to warn me—of some danger—I couldn't see."
She broke off in tears. It seemed impossible to put the thing into words. It was so intangible yet in her eyes so portentous. Max's hand was on her head, stilling her agitation. She wondered if he thought her very absurd, but he did not leave her long in doubt.
"There's nothing to cry about, my dear," he said. "Your nerves were a bit strung up after the tiger episode, that's all. They will quiet down in a day or two. All the same"—his hand pressed a little—"I'm glad you told me. A trouble shared is only half a trouble, is it? And I have a right to all your troubles now."
He took her handkerchief, and dried her eyes with the utmost kindness; then turned her face gently upwards.
"Is that quite all?" he asked.
She tried to smile, with quivering lips.
"Not quite?" he questioned. "Come, I may as well know, mayn't I?"
"I don't know that there is anything gained by telling you," she said.
"You never liked talking about your cases to me."
He frowned a little. "My dear girl, what particular case is it you have on your mind?"
She hesitated. "You won't be vexed?"
"Vexed? No!" he said; but he continued to frown slightly notwithstanding.
"I hope you won't be," Olga said, "because I simply can't argue about it. Max, I sometimes think to myself that if—you hadn't known—and Violet hadn't come to know—about—about her mother—things might have been—very different."
"Meaning I should have fallen in love with her?" said Max.
She nodded. "It may be a breach of confidence, but—I think I'll tell you now. Max, she cared for you."
She spoke the words with an effort, her eyes turned from him. Perhaps she was afraid that she might encounter cynicism in the vigilant green eyes, and she could not have endured it at that moment.
But at least there was none in his voice when he said: "Yes, I know she did. That was what made her hate me so badly afterwards. I am very sorry, Olga; but, for your comfort let me tell you this. I should never—under any circumstances—have come to care for her. You won't like me for saying it, but she was never more to me than a very interesting case, and, apart from medical investigation, she would simply not have existed so far as I was concerned. She didn't appeal to me."
Olga winced a little. "Oh, Max, but she was so beautiful!" she urged wistfully.
He made a slight gesture of impatience. "I don't dispute it. But what of it? My brain is not the sort to be turned by beauty. There was too much of it for my taste. She was exotic. That type of beauty gives me indigestion."
Olga looked at him reproachfully. "You didn't like her, Max?"
"Not much," said Max.
She made a movement as if she would withdraw herself from him, but he quietly and very resolutely held her still. "Although you knew she cared for you!" she said.
"Yes, in spite of that;" said Max. "In fact, I felt a bit vexed with her for complicating matters in that fashion. Goodness knows I never gave her the smallest reason for it!"
Olga laughed faintly, with an unwonted touch of bitterness. "It's a pity women are such doting fools," she said.
He looked at her attentively. "Did you say that?" he asked.
She met his look, not without defiance. "Yes, and I meant it too. It's such a wicked waste. And I think—- I think—in her case it was something far worse. I believe it was that which in a very great measure helped to unhinge her mind."
"How could I help it?" demanded Max almost fierily. "I never wanted her to care."
"That was just the cruel part of it," said Olga. "It was just your utter indifference that broke her heart."
"Good heavens!" said Max.
He let her go very abruptly and leaned against one of the verandah posts as if he needed support.
Olga tilted herself over the side of the hammock and stood up. "You couldn't help not caring," she said. "But—you might have been a little kinder. You needn't have made her hate and fear you."
Max surveyed her grimly from under drawn brows. "My dear," he said, "you simply don't know what you are talking about."
That fired her. A quiver of passion went suddenly through her. She faced him as she had faced him in the old days with a courage that sustained itself.
"Indeed, I know!" she said. "Better than it is in your power to understand. Oh, I know now what made her—hate you so."
The last words came with a rush, almost under her breath; but they were fully audible to the man lounging before her.
He did not speak at once, and yet he did not give the impression of being at a loss. He continued to lounge while he contemplated her with eyes of steady inscrutability.
He spoke at length with extreme deliberation. "And so you want to take me to task for breaking her heart, do you?"
"She was my friend," said Olga quickly.
He stood up slowly. "And would you have liked it better if I had made love to her?"
She flinched as if that stung. "No—no! But you might have been kind—you might have been kind—since you knew she cared. If you hadn't made such a study of her, she would never have looked your way. That was the cruel part of it—the dreadful, cold-blooded part."
"What do you mean by kind?" said Max. "You don't seem to realize that the poor girl was mad. If I had been soft with her she would have been beyond my control at once."
"Oh, but she wasn't mad then," Olga's hands clasped each other tightly. "Max," she said, and there was no longer indignation in her voice—it held only pain, "I'm afraid you and I have a good deal to answer for."
"Perhaps," said Max. He was frowning still; but he did not appear angry. She did not wholly understand either his look or tone. "I suppose she thought I treated her badly," he said.
Olga nodded silently.
"She told you so?" His voice sounded stern; yet, still he did not seem to be angry.
"No, never." Almost involuntarily she answered him. "But she did say—once—that you cared only for your profession, that it was not in you to—to worship any woman."
"And you think that too?" he said.
His voice was softer now; it moved her subtly. She turned her face away from him and stifled a sob in her throat.
"No; but, Max—to build our life-happiness on—on the ruin of hers; that—that—is what troubles me."
"But my dear girl!" he said. He took her two hands clasped into his. "I can't reason with you, Olga," he said. "You are quite unreasonable, and you know it. If you were any other woman, I should say that you felt in the mood for a good cry and so were raking up any old grievance for a pretext. As you are you, I won't say that. But I absolutely prohibit crying in my presence. If you want to indulge in tears, you must wait till I am out of the way."
She smiled at him faintly. "Max, I—I loved her-so; and I wasn't even with her—when she died."
Max was silent, suddenly and conspicuously silent, so that she knew on the instant that he had no sympathy to bestow on this point.
Yet an inner longing that was passionate urged her to brave his silence.
Pleadingly she raised her face to his.
"Max, you were there, I know. Tell me—tell me about it!"
But he looked straight back at her with eyes that told her nothing, and she saw that his face was hard. For a little she tried to withstand him, mutely beseeching him; but at length her eyes fell before his.
And then Max spoke, briefly yet not unkindly. "My dear Olga, believe me, in nine cases out of ten it is better to forget those things that are behind; and this is one of the nine. I can't tell you anything on that subject, so we had better regard it 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.
Nick laughed, a baffling laugh. "I asked him to come," he said.
"You, Nick! Why?"
He frowned at her. "Don't ask questions, little girl! Ah, that's a fine pony down there! Ye gods! What wouldn't I give to have another fling at the game!"
"Oh, but you never must!" said Olga quickly. "I couldn't bear you to take that risk indeed."
"You'd like to wrap me up in cotton-wool and seal me in a safe," laughed
Nick.
"No; but, Nick, you are so reckless," she said, with loving eyes upon him. "It would be madness, wouldn't it, Max?"
Max's shrewd look rested for a moment on his host. "Little gods sometimes accomplish what mere mortals would never dream of attempting," he said. "How soon do you expect to be Viceroy, Nick?"
"Oh, not for a year or two," said Nick. "I haven't talked it over with my wife yet. There's no knowing. She may object. Wives are sometimes hard to please, you know." He flung a humorous glance at Max, and turned to leave them. "You will excuse me, I am sure, with the utmost pleasure. I am going to play spelicans with Kobad Shikan."
He was gone, and Olga turned to Max, smiling somewhat uneasily. "I wish he wouldn't," she said.
"What? Play spelicans? I should think he might prove as great an adept at that as walking the tight rope," said Max. "Ah, here comes your friend Mrs. Musgrave! She went home and told her husband this morning that I was the most objectionable young man she had ever met."
Olga's eyes widened with indignation. "Max, I'm sure she didn't, and if she did it was entirely your own fault. I believe you wanted her to think so."
"Some people have an antipathy to red hair," observed Max. "You had yourself at one time, I believe. Hullo! Is that our gallant Noel in polo-kit? What a magnificent spectacle!"
It was Noel following Daisy, whose rickshaw he had just spied, and bearing the proud Peggy on his shoulder.
He came straight to Olga, smiling with supreme ease, lowered Peggy from her perch, and dropped into the vacant seat beside her. Daisy passed on with a smile to join the Bradlaws. Peggy remained, glued to her hero's side.
"I say," said Noel, "I hope you haven't been thinking me beastly rude, Olga. I've been wishing you happiness with all my heart all the morning, but I simply couldn't get round to tell you so."
It was charmingly spoken. Her hand lay in his while he said it. He did not seem to observe his brother on her other side. But Peggy observed him and clung to Noel's shoulder with wide, fascinated eyes fixed upon the stranger.
"Noel," cut in the high, baby voice, "isn't that an ugly man? Who's that ugly man, Noel?"
Noel squeezed Olga's hand and set it free to lift the small questioner to his knee.
"That handsome gentleman, Peggy, is my brother, and he is going to marry this pretty lady—whom you know. Any more questions?"
Peggy stared at Olga very seriously. "Do you want to marry him, Miss
Ratcliffe?" she asked.
"Of course she does," said Max. "Everyone wants to marry me. It's a sort of disease that spreads like the plague."
Peggy's eyes returned to him and fixed him with grave attention.
"I don't want to marry you," she announced with absolute decision.
"You'd rather have the plague, eh?" suggested Noel.
"No," said Peggy, and turned to him with her sweet, adoring smile. "But
I'm goin' to marry you; aren't I, Noel?"
"Hear, hear!" said Noel with enthusiasm.
"Highly suitable," said Max.
"I hope you will both be very happy," said Olga, with a touch of earnestness that she emphasized with a secret pressure of Noel's arm.
"We shall be as happy as the day is long," said Noel, smiling straight into her eyes. "Now, little sweetheart," turning to Peggy, "I must be off. We've got some tough work in front of us."
"I hope you'll win," said Olga.
He stood up, looking very straight and handsome. His dark eyes, laughing downwards, seemed to challenge her to detect any shadow of disappointment in them.
"Win! Why, of course we shall. We're going to lick Akbar & Co. into the middle of next week—for the honour of the Regiment and Badgers."
He cast an impudent glance over his shoulder towards his commanding officer, with whom, however, he was a supreme favourite; smiled again at Olga while wholly over-looking Max, then swung around on his heel and departed.
Peggy stood for a moment watching him go, then with sudden resolution put aside the arm Olga had passed around her and ran after him.
"Highly suitable," Max said again.
Olga turned to him. "That's what Nick says. But it's such a long while for him to wait, poor boy."
"That wouldn't hurt him," said Max. "Do him all the good in the world, in fact. He's too much of a spoilt darling at present."
"Oh, Max, how can you say so? He is so splendid."
Max's mouth curved downwards. He said nothing.
"Max!" Olga's voice was anxious; it held a hint of pleading also, "you haven't—quarrelled, have you?"
Max turned deliberately and looked at her. "I never quarrel," he said.
"But you don't seem to be on very good terms," she said.
"The boy is such a puppy," Max said.
"Oh, he isn't!" she protested, flushing swiftly and very hotly. "He—he is the very nicest boy I know."
He laughed a little. "I believe you would have married him if I hadn't come along just in time."
Olga turned her burning face to the field. She was silent for a space, studying the mixed crowd assembled there, till, feeling his eyes persistently upon her, she was at length impelled to speak.
"It is quite possible," she said in a low voice.
"Really? You like him well enough for that?" Max's voice was quite calm, even impersonal. He spoke as one seeking information on a point that concerned him not at all.
Again for a time Olga was silent while the deep flush slowly died out of her face. At last with a little gesture of confidence only observable by him, she slipped her hand under his arm. "I wasn't in love with him, Max," she whispered. "But—I think—perhaps I could have been."
He pressed her hand to him with no visible movement. "And now?" he said.
"Ah, no, not now," she murmured, half-laughing. "You have quite put an end to that."
They were interrupted. Colonel Bradlaw had just heard of their engagement from Daisy, and came up to make Max's acquaintance and to offer his pompous felicitations.
Before these were over the game began, greatly to Olga's relief. She took a keen interest in it, and marked the adroit celerity with which the Rajah's team took the field with anxiety. The Rajah himself was an excellent player, and he was obviously on his mettle. Moreover, his ponies were superior to those of the British team; and the odds were plainly in his favour.
"Oh, he mustn't win; he mustn't!" said Olga feverishly.
"Don't get excited!" Max advised. "Follow the example of Nick's Oriental friend in front of us. He doesn't look as if red-hot pincers would make him lose his dignity."
"Horrid old man!" breathed Olga.
And yet Kobad Shikan was conversing with Nick with exemplary courtesy, giving no adequate occasion for such criticism.
"Is he another bête-noir of yours then?" asked Max.
She laughed a little. "Yes, I think he is detestable, and I believe he hates us all."
"Poor old man!" said Max.
All through that afternoon of splendid Indian winter, they watched the polo, talking, laughing, or intimately silent. All through the afternoon Nick remained with Kobad Shikan, airily marking time. And all through the afternoon Noel distinguished himself, whirling hither and thither, hotly, keenly, untiringly pressing for the victory. If the Rajah were on his mettle, so undoubtedly was he. He had never played so brilliantly before, and the wild applause he gained for himself should have been nectar to his soul. Yet to many it almost seemed that he did not hear it. He laughed throughout the game, but it was with set teeth, and once in a close encounter with the Rajah his eyes flamed open fury into the face of the Oriental as the latter swept the ball out of his reach.
It was a splendid fight, but the British team were outmatched. In the end, after a fierce struggle, they were beaten by a single goal.
Victors and vanquished came to the pavilion later and had tea with their supporters. But Noel did not return to Olga's side. He kept at a distance, surrounded by an enthusiastic group of fellow-subalterns.
Peggy, restrained by her mother from joining him, watched him with longing eyes; but she watched in vain. Noel did not so much as glance in their direction, and very soon he departed altogether with a brother-officer.
"Wyndham seems down on his luck," observed Major Forsyth, Noel's Major, to Daisy, to whom he had just brought tea. "He's no need to be. He played like a dozen devils."
She smiled with that touch of tenderness that all women had for Noel. "I expect he doesn't like being beaten, poor boy."
"He hasn't learned the art of taking it gracefully," said the Major. "But he shouldn't show temper. It's a sign of coltishness that I don't care for."
"Ah, well, he's young," said Daisy, with a sigh. "He'll get over that."
Her thoughts dwelt regretfully upon the young officer as she returned with Peggy. She believed that she understood Noel better than anyone else did just then.
Peggy did not understand him at all, and was deeply hurt by her cavalier's defection. She did think he might have said good-bye to her before he went.
Will, meeting them at the gate of their own compound, laughed down his small daughter's grievance. "Do you really suppose he could remember a midget like you?" he asked, as he tossed her on to his shoulder. "You expect too much of us, my baby."
"You wouldn't have goed away like that, Daddy," she protested, locking her small fingers lovingly under his chin.
"Ah, well, I'm old, you see," said Will. "I've learned how to please—or should I say how not to displease?—you sensitive ladies."
"Did Mummy teach you?" asked Peggy with interest.
Will laughed with his eyes on his wife's face. "On that subject," he said, "she taught me absolutely all I know."
Daisy smiled in return. "I set you some hard lessons, didn't I, Will?" she said. "Why, how late we are! I had no idea the evening mail was in. Peggy, run to ayah, darling! Only one letter for me! Who on earth is it from?"
She took it up and inspected the handwriting on the envelope.
"It's a bold enough scrawl," said Will. "Some male acquaintance apparently."
"No one interesting, I am sure," said Daisy.
She opened the envelope as she stood, withdrew the letter, and glanced at the signature.
The next instant she flushed suddenly and hotly. "That man!" she ejaculated.
"What man?" said Will.
She turned to the beginning of the letter. "Oh, it's no one you know, dear. A man I met long ago at Mahalaleshwar—that time you were at Bombay, soon after we married. He was a shocking flirt. So was I—in those days. But he got too serious at last, and I had to cut and run. I daresay there wasn't any real harm in him. It was probably all my own fault. It always is the woman's fault, isn't it?"
She twined her arm in his, looking up into his face with a little smile, half-mocking, half-wistful.
He stooped to kiss her. "Well, what does the bounder want?"
"Oh, nothing much," she said. "Simply, he finds himself in this direction after big game, and, having heard of our being here, he wants to know if we will put him up for a night or two—for the sake of old times, he has the effrontery to add."
"Do you want him?" asked Will, the echo of a fighting note in his voice.
She smiled again as she heard it. "No, not particularly. I am really indifferent. But I think it would look rather silly to refuse, don't you? Besides, it would be good for him to see how old and staid I have become."
Will looked slightly grim. Nevertheless, he did not argue the point.
"All right, Daisy. Do as you think best!" he said.
She returned to her letter, still holding his arm. "That's very wise of you, Will," she said softly. "Then I suppose I shall write and tell him to come."
"What's the fellow's name?" asked Will.
Daisy turned again to the signature. "Merton Hunt-Goring. He was a major in the Sappers, but he has retired now, he says. He can't be very young. He was no chicken in those days. I didn't really like him, you know; but he amused me."
Will smiled. "Poor darling! Your bore of a husband never did that."
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Dear old duffer! When are we going for that honeymoon of ours? And what shall we do with Peggy? Don't say we've got to wait till she is safely married to Noel!"
Will's eyes opened. Never since Peggy's birth had Peggy's mother tolerated the possibility of leaving her. He had always believed that her whole soul centred in the child, and he had been content to believe it; such was the greatness of his love.
"You would never bear to leave Peggy behind," he said.
She laughed at him, her soft, mocking laugh of mischievous, elusive charm. "Do you suppose I shall want a child to look after when I am on my honeymoon? Of course I should leave her behind—not alone with ayah, of course. But that could be arranged. Anyhow, it is high time she learned to toddle alone on her own wee legs for a little. She is very independent already. She wouldn't really miss me, you know."