"You'd be homesick," said Nick.

"Nick! With you!"

He was looking at her with shrewd, flickering eyes. "Do you mean to say," he said, "that there is no one here that you would mind leaving for so long?"

"There's Dad of course," she said. "But--don't you think perhaps Muriel wouldn't mind taking care of him for me if I took care of you for her?"

Nick broke into a laugh. "Excellent, my child! Most ingenious! Jim and Muriel are fast allies. But--Jim is not the only person you would leave behind. You ought to consider that before you get too obsessed by this enchanting idea. It's pretty beastly, you know, to feel that half the world stretches between you and--someone you might at any moment develop a pressing desire to see."

Olga frowned at him. "What are you driving at, Nick?"

"I'm only indicating the obvious," said Nick.

"No, you're not, dear. You're hinting things."

"In that case," said Nick, "you are at liberty to treat me with the contempt I deserve. Look here! We won't talk about this any more to-day.

The subject is too indigestible. We'll sleep on it, and see what we think of it to-morrow."

"You're not going to write to Muriel to-night?" asked Olga.

"Not to-night. They've given me a week to make up my mind."

"And when would you have to go?"

"Some time towards the end of next month, or possibly the beginning of October. But as we're not going," said Nick, "I move that the discussion be postponed."

He smiled into her eyes, a baffling, humorous smile, and rose.

"But it was a ripping idea of yours," he said. "I'm quite grateful to you for mentioning it. There are some chocolates in the hall for you.

Don't give them all to Violet, charm she never so wisely."

"Oh, Nick, you darling! Fancy your remembering me! Do let's have some at once!"

They went indoors together with something of the air of conspirators, and in the close companionship of her hero Olga managed to forget that she had so recently been driven to another man for protection. In fact, the interview in the surgery, with the episode that had preceded it, was completely crowded out of her mind by this new and dazzling idea that had flashed so suddenly into her brain, and which seemed already to have altered the course of her life.

Many and startling were the visions that filled her sleeping hours that night but each one of them served but to impress upon her the same thing. When she arose in the morning she told herself with a little shiver of sheer excitement that the gates of the world were opening to her, and that soon she would actually behold those wonders of which till then she had only dreamed.

CHAPTER X

THE DOOR

When remembrance of the previous day's happenings came to Olga, she was already so deeply engrossed in household duties that she was able to dismiss the matter without much difficulty. It was one of the busiest mornings of the week, and no sooner had she finished indoors than she donned a sun-bonnet and big ap.r.o.n and betook herself to the raspberry-bed to gather fruit for jam.

The day was hot, and Violet had established herself in the hammock under the lime-trees with a book and a box of cigarettes. The three boys had gone with Nick on a fishing expedition, and all was supremely quiet.

The sun blazed mercilessly down upon Olga as she toiled, but she would not be discouraged. The raspberries were many and ready to drop with ripeness, and the jam-making could not be deferred. So intent was she that she really almost forgot the physical discomfort in her anxiety to accomplish her task. She had meant to do it in the cool of the previous evening, but her talk with Nick had driven the matter absolutely from her mind.

So she laboured in the full heat of a burning August day, till her head began to throb and her muscles to ache so unbearably that it was no longer possible to ignore them. It was at the commencement of the last row but one (they were very long rows) that she became aware that her energies were seriously flagging. The rest of the garden seemed to be swimming in a haze around her, but she stubbornly ignored that, and bent again to her work, fixing her attention once more with all her resolution upon the great rose-red berries that were waiting to be gathered. She must finish now. She had promised herself to clear the bed by luncheon-time. But it was certainly very hard labour, harder than she had ever found it before. She began to feel as if her limbs were weighted, and the fruit itself danced giddily before her aching eyes.

Suddenly she heard a step on the ash-path near her. She looked up, half-turning as she did so. The next instant it was as if a knife had suddenly pierced her temples. She cried out sharply with the pain of it, staggered, clutched wildly at emptiness, and fell. The contents of her basket scattered around her in spite of her desperate efforts to save them, and this disaster was to Olga the climax of all. She went into a brief darkness in bitterness of spirit.

Not wholly did she lose consciousness, however, for she knew whose arms lifted her, and even very feebly tried to push them away. In the end she found herself sitting on an old wooden bench in the shade of the garden-wall, with her head against Max's shoulder, and his hand, very vital and full of purpose, grasping her wrist.

"Oh, Max," she said, with a painful gasp, "my raspberries!"

"d.a.m.n the raspberries!" growled Max. His hand travelled up to her head and removed the sun-bonnet while he was speaking. "Don't move till you feel better!" he said. "There's nothing to bother about."

He pressed her temples with a sure, cool touch. She closed her eyes under it.

"But I must get on," she said uneasily. "I want to make the jam this afternoon."

"Do you?" said Max grimly.

She was silent for a little. He kept his hand upon her head, and she was glad of its support though she wished it had not been his.

"It must be nearly luncheon-time," she said at last, with an effort.

"It is," said Max. "We will go indoors."

"Oh, but I must pick up my raspberries first, and--there's a whole row--more--to gather yet."

"You will have to leave that job for someone else," he said. "You are not fit for it. Are you quite mad, I wonder?"

"It had to be done," said Olga. "I must finish now--really I must finish." She took his hand from her head and slowly raised it. Instantly that agonizing pain shot through her temples again. She barely suppressed a cry.

"What is it?" he said.

"My head!" she gasped. "And oh, Max, I do feel so sick."

He stood up. "Come along!" he said. "I'm going to carry you in."

She raised a feeble protest to which he paid no more attention than if it had been the buzzing of a fly. Very steadily and strongly he lifted her.

"Put your head on my shoulder!" he said, and she obeyed him like a child.

They encountered no one on the way back to the house. Straight in and straight upstairs went Max, finally depositing her upon her bed. He seemed to know exactly how she felt, for he propped her head high with a skill that she found infinitely comforting, and drew the window-curtains to shade her eyes. Then very quietly he proceeded to remove her shoes.

"Thank you very much," murmured Olga. "Don't bother!"

He came and stood beside her and again felt her pulse. "Look here," he said. "As soon as you feel a little better, you undress and slip into bed. I'll come up again in half an hour and give you something for your head. Understand?"

"Oh, no!" Olga said. "No! I can't go to bed, really. I'll lie here for a little while, but I shall be quite all right presently."

Max continued to feel her pulse. He was frowning a good deal. "You will do as I say," he said deliberately. "You are to go to bed at once, and you won't come down again for the rest of the day."