"Who did?" demanded Max.

"Hunt-Goring."

Max swallowed a remark which sounded more savage suppressed than if it had been fully audible.

"You had a row with him then?"

"Yes, I did. I couldn't help it. I told him it was a d.a.m.ned lie," said Noel.

Max grunted.

Noel proceeded with a hint of that doggedness that characterized them both. "After that, I saw Olga; it was before we got engaged. And I told her it was a lie too."

Max grunted again, stubbornly refraining from question or comment.

Noel, equally stubborn, continued. "She said it was the truth--said you had admitted it to her. I didn't--quite--believe it even then. Thinking about it since, I am pretty sure you didn't do actually that. Or if you did, it was a lie."

Max maintained an uncompromising silence.

Noel waited a moment, then squarely tackled him. "Max, why did you lie to her?"

"And if I didn't?" said Max very deliberately.

Noel made instant and winning reply. "Oh, you needn't ask me to believe that tomfool tale, old chap! I know you too well for that."

"All right," said Max. "Then you know quite as much as is good for you.

If you want to be ready in time to meet your fiancee, you had better let Kersley's man lend you a hand with your dressing. I will send him to you."

He was at the door with the words. Noel heard him open it and go out. He sat where Max had left him with a puzzled frown between his brows.

"I wish I knew the fellow's game," he murmured. "I wish--"

He broke off. What was the good of wishing? Moreover, to be quite honest, perhaps he was more or less satisfied with things as they were.

Max had probably got over his disappointment to a certain extent by this time. It was quite obvious that he had no desire or intention to reopen the matter. No, on the whole perhaps it was indiscreet to probe too deeply. Every man had a right to his own secrets. And meantime, Olga was his--was his, and there remained this glorious possibility that his sight might be restored also.

He put up his hands suddenly, covering those useless, tortured eyes. A very curious tremor went through him. His heart began to throb thick and hard. It seemed too good to be true. Since that first awful day he had not fought against Fate, refraining himself even in his worst hours of darkness and suffering, and now it seemed that Fate was going to be kind after all. Like Job, he was to receive all--and more also--that he had lost.

He broke into a quivering laugh. "Good old Job!" he said. "We're not all such lucky beggars as that."

And then again that odd little tremor went through him. It was like a warning, almost a presentiment. His hands fell. He sat straight and still, as one waiting for a sign. No, such things didn't happen. Luck like Job's was apocryphal, abnormal, outside the bounds of human possibility. They might give him back his sight, but--He stopped here as if brought up by a sudden obstacle.

"I wonder if I'm a fool to have that operation," he said. "I wonder if--she--will like me as well if I get back my sight."

The doubt pressed cold at his heart. She had been so divinely kind to him ever since the catastrophe. She had literally given herself up to him, making his darkness light. And vaguely he knew that she had loved the doing of it, had loved to know that he needed her. How would it be, he asked himself, when he needed her thus no longer? Would she love him as well in strength as in weakness? Would she be as near to him when he no longer needed her to lead him by the hand?

He sprang to his feet with a gesture of fierce impatience. He flung the doubt away. Her love was not fashioned of so slender a fabric as this.

What right had he to question it thus?

But yet, despite all self-reproach, the doubt remained, repudiate it as he might. It went with him even into her loved presence, refusing to be dislodged.

She came with her father to dine in accordance with Max's invitation.

The evening pa.s.sed with absolute smoothness. Sir Kersley and Dr. Jim were old friends, and had a good deal to say to one another. Max was present at the table, but withdrew early, alleging that he had a serious case to attend. Olga and Noel were left to themselves.

They retired to Sir Kersley's drawing-room and spent the rest of the evening there. Olga was evidently tired, and Noel provided most of the conversation. Noel was never silent for any length of time. He lay on the sofa talking with cheery inconsequence, scarcely pausing for any response, till presently he worked round to the subject of his blindness--a subject which by tacit consent they seldom discussed.

"Max has had a look at me," he said. "He thinks they may be able to switch the light on again. They will have to tighten up a few screws, or something of the kind. He didn't let me into the whole ghastly process, but gave me to understand it wouldn't be exactly a picnic. I don't know how long it's going to take; some time, I fancy. You'll pay me a visit now and then, won't you?"

It was then that Olga came very suddenly out of her silence, moved impulsively to him, and knelt by his side, her hands on his.

"Noel!" she said.

He turned to her swiftly, gathering her hands up to his lips. "What, darling?"

"Noel,--" she paused an instant, then with a rush came the words--"let us be married very soon! Let us be married--before the operation!"

"My darling girl!" said Noel in astonishment.

"Yes," she said rapidly. "I mean it! I wish it! Dad knows that I wish it. So does Nick. Nick is very good, you know. He--he is going to settle some money on me on my twenty-first birthday. So that needn't be a difficulty. We shall have enough to live upon."

"And you think I'm going to live on you?" said Noel, still with her hands pressed hard against his cheek.

"No," she said. "No. You've got something, I expect. That--with mine--would be enough."

"I've got what my good brother-in-law allows me--besides my pay," said Noel. "I daresay--if the worst happened--he would make a settlement too.

But I can't count on that. Besides--the worst isn't going to happen. So cheer up, darling! I shall go back to Badgers yet. Poor old boy! It was decent of him to pay me the compliment of being so cut up, wasn't it? I mustn't forget to send him a cable when the deed is done."

He was switching the conversation into more normal channels with airy inconsequence, but Olga gently brought him back to the point.

"Won't you consider my suggestion?" she said.

He smiled then, his quick, boyish smile. "My darling, I have considered it. I'm afraid it isn't practicable. But thank you a million times over all the same!"

"Noel!" There was keen disappointment in her voice. "Why isn't it practicable?"

He let her hands go, and reached out, drawing her to him. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart!" he said softly. "I'm hound enough as it is to dream of letting you join your life to mine under present conditions. But this other is out of the question. I simply won't do it, dear, so don't ask me!"

"But why not?" she pleaded very earnestly. "I have told you I wish it."

He smiled--a smile that was very tender and yet whimsical also. "So like you, darling," he said. "But it can't be done. There are always chances to be taken in a serious operation; but I don't mean to take more than I can help. I'm not going to chance making you a widow almost before you are a wife."

"Oh, but, Noel--" she protested.

"Yes, really, darling. It's my final word on the subject. We will be married just as soon after the operation as can be decently managed. But not before it, sweetheart. Any fellow who let you do that would be a cur of the lowest degree."

He was holding her in his arms with the words. Her head was against his shoulder. A man had entered the conservatory behind them from an adjoining room, lounging in with his feet in carpet slippers that made no sound.

"And suppose--" it was Olga's voice very low and quivering--"suppose the operation doesn't succeed,--shall you--shall you refuse to marry me then?"