She answered him with her face hidden and in a voice so low that he barely caught the words. "I am--not free!"

"Not free!" Sharply he repeated the phrase. Suspicion, keen-edged as a rapier, ran swiftly through him. His arms tightened. "Olga, tell me what you mean! Who is it? Not--not that devil Hunt-Goring!"

She did not answer him, save by her silence and the convulsive shudder that went through her at his words. But that in itself was answer enough, and over her head Noel swore a deep and terrible oath.

Only a few yards away the lilting waltz-music was quickening to a finish. In a few moments more their privacy would be invaded by the giddy dancers.

"Listen!" said Noel, and his voice fell short and stern. "He shan't have you! That I swear! It's monstrous--it's unthinkable! Why, he's old enough to be your father. And he's got the opium-habit. Max told me so.

Olga, I say, haven't you the strength of mind to refuse him? If the brute pesters you, why don't you tell Nick?"

Slowly Olga raised herself, quitting his support. "I've promised not to tell anyone," she said dully. "You mustn't know either."

"But, my dear girl, something must be done," he objected. "You can't let him ride over you roughshod. You don't mean--you can't mean--to let him marry you?"

"I can't help it," she said.

"Can't help it!" He stared at her. "He really has some hold over you then? What is it?"

She was silent. The last crashing chords of the first waltz were being played. Noel got to his feet. His boyish face was set in grim lines.

"Do you want me to go and kill him?" he said.

"No!" She sprang up also, quickened to sudden fear by his words. "You're not to go near him," she said, "Noel, promise me you won't! Oh, if you only knew--how much harder--your interference makes things! Don't you see--I've given him my word to consult no one!" She was panting uncontrollably; her hands were fast closed upon his arm. "I refused him once before," she told him feverishly, "and he--he punished me--cruelly.

I can't--I daren't--refuse him again!"

"You'd sooner marry him?" Noel stared at her incredulously.

She flung out her hands with a wide, despairing gesture. "Yes--yes--I would sooner marry him!"

The music had stopped. There came the sound of approaching voices. Their privacy was at an end.

Yet for full ten seconds Noel stood widely gazing at the girl before him with eyes in which surprise, hurt pride, and smouldering pa.s.sion mingled; then very abruptly, as the first chattering couple reached the half-open door, he swung away from her.

"All right!" he said. "Good-bye!"

He went straight out without a glance behind, nearly running into the gay invaders.

Olga, with the instinct to escape notice, turned as swiftly to the window. She went out upon the verandah, blindly groping her way, scarcely aware of her surroundings. And a figure waiting there in the dimness laughed a cruel laugh and roughly caught her.

"'You'd sooner marry him,' eh?" gibed a voice close to her ear. "My dear, that's the wisest resolution you ever made in your life!"

She did not cry out or attempt to resist him. She had known that her fate was sealed. Only, as his lips sought hers, she shrank away with every fibre of her being in sick revolt, and for the first time in her life she begged for mercy.

"Please--please--give me to-night!" she pleaded. "Only to-night! Yes, I will marry you. But don't--don't ask--any more of me--to-night!"

He paused, still holding her in his arms, feeling the wild beat of her heart against his own, softened in spite of himself by that quivering, agonized appeal.

"And if I let you go to-night, what will you give me to-morrow?" he said.

"I shall be--your _fiancee_--to-morrow," she whispered, gasping.

"And you will marry me--when?"

"You shall decide," she murmured faintly.

He laughed rather brutally. "A somewhat empty favour, my dear, since I should have decided in any case. But if you give me your promise to come to me like a sensible girl, without any more nonsense of any kind--"

"I will!" she said. "I will!"

"Then--" he released her with the words--"I give you your freedom--till to-morrow. Go--and make the most of it!"

He had not kissed her. She slipped from his arms, thankful for his forbearance, and sped away down the veranda like a shadow.

As for Hunt-Goring, he cursed himself for a soft fool and took out his cigarettes to wile away what promised to be an evening of infernal dullness.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE GIFT OF THE RAJAH

Olga danced that night with the feeling that she danced upon her grave, reminding herself continually, as the hours slipped by, that it was her last night of freedom.

The failure of Nick to appear for the supper-dances diverted her thoughts from this but to send them with ever-growing anxiety into a new channel. Where was Nick? What was happening to him? What could be delaying him?

She had no partner to take her in to supper, refusing each one that offered with the repeated declaration that she must wait for Nick. But Nick came not, and momentarily her uneasiness increased.

Sir Reginald came to her at last, his kindly face full of sympathy.

"There is probably no occasion for alarm, my dear," he said. "Come, give me the pleasure of your company at supper!"

She had to yield, for he would take no refusal; but she could eat nothing notwithstanding his utmost solicitude. She was in a state of mind to start at every sudden sound, and the food he put before her remained untasted on her plate.

Sir Reginald watched over her with fatherly concern, but he could do nothing to alleviate her anxiety. In his own private soul he shared it to a considerable degree.

As they left the supper-room together, she turned to him piteously.

"Oh, do you think I might go back and see if he has returned? Really, I can't--I can't dance any more!"

"Wait a little longer!" he counselled. "You needn't dance of course.

Stay quietly with me! He may walk in at any moment."

She longed to go, but could not refuse a suggestion so kindly proffered.

She stayed with him therefore, glad of his protecting presence, refusing to dance any more on the plea of fatigue.

The whirling scene wearied her unspeakably. She found herself watching Noel, who was frankly flirting with every woman in the room. It was doubtless a safe pastime, but behind her gnawing anxiety a little spark of resentment kindled and burned. How hopelessly fickle he was!

Hunt-Goring had apparently removed himself from the gay company altogether, for she saw him not at all. His absence was the only palliating circ.u.mstance in that hour of sick suspense.