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The evening was marked for ever in Olga's calendar as the merriest of her life. She was positively giddy with happiness, and she danced as she had never danced before. No one deemed her colourless or insignificant that night. She was radiant, and all who saw her felt the glow.
So Granny Stubbs has given you the slip, has she? How impertinent of her! Aren't you very angry?" Max shrugged his shoulders with a glance at Olga's tight lips. "I never expend my emotions in vain," he said. "It's a waste of time as well as energy, and I have other purposes for both." "Then you are never angry?" enquired Violet. "Never, unless I can punish the offender," smiled Max.
"The mischief is done." Dr. Gates looked up at him. "I'm in love with you myself, Peter!" she said gratefully. "Perhaps it is the tie. Did you ever eat such a meal?" A very pale and dispirited Harmony it was who bathed her eyes in cold water that evening and obeyed little Olga's "Bitte sum speisen."
"But I couldn't do anything. That would have made things worse." "Oh, yes and then the play that dreadful play! That was Olga's doing. I was there, Philidor, at Rood's Knoll. I saw it all. Listened in terror to every word of the dreadful sacrilege. It was sacrilege! to see my love and yours pictured the dreadful thing that that love was. I got out somehow. They were talking of me lightly.
They rejoined the party in the front room just as a rumble of carts was heard approaching. There was a hasty parting. Father, mother, and daughters kissed the midshipmen affectionately. Jack squeezed Olga's hand at parting, and in another minute they were standing in front of the door. "Yours will be the last two carts," the count said.
You'll have to face it out now." "But it's the truth!" she said. "It's a damnable lie!" said Nick. "Nick," it was Max's voice measured and deliberate, "will you leave me to deal with this?" Olga's hand turned in Nick's and clung to it. "You needn't go, Nick," she said hurriedly. "Yes, I'm going," said Nick. "You can come to me afterwards if you like. I shall be in my room."
He might write to Mrs. Latham for information if the farmer's wife had any regarding Olga. At least, it was one sure thing, that such information as Janice had obtained was much too late. An ocean separated her now from the Johnsons, Olga's friends. Janice bade her new acquaintance good-bye with some difficulty. The woman by the roadside did love to talk.
He smiled slightly a smile which to Olga's watching eyes was infinitely sad. "I don't think you have," he said. "You may have seen my portrait." "Ah, that's it!" She regarded him with a new interest. "I have! I believe I've got it somewhere." "Do you collect the portraits of celebrities?" asked Max. She shook her head. "Oh, no! It's among my mother's things. It must have been taken years ago.
To make matters the worse the Duchesse had taken upon herself an attack of the gout which made her insupportable, and Pierre de Folligny, Olga's usual refuse in hours like these, had gone off for a week of shooting at the Chteau of a cousin of the Duchesse's, the Comte de Cahors.
Hannaford would probably have rather taken to him. Olga's announcement came with startling suddenness. For a twelvemonth she had been trying to make money by artistic work, and to a small extent had succeeded, managing to sell a few drawings to weekly papers, and even to get a poor little commission for the illustrating of a poor little book.
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