"What if I am not the delinquent after all?" he said.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes met his again, wide and incredulous.

"What if I tell you that this packet--whatever it contains--did not come from me?"

He asked the question with a faint smile that set some chord of memory vibrating strangely in her soul. But she could not stop to wrestle with memory then. His words demanded her instant attention.

"Not come from you!" she repeated, as one dazed. "But it did! Surely it did!"

"Most surely it didn't!" said Noel.

She freed her hand and opened it, gazing at the subject of their discussion almost with fear. "Mr. Wyndham!"

"Call me Noel!" he said. "There's nothing in that. Everybody does it.

And don't be upset on my account! It was a perfectly natural mistake.

I'm deeply in love with you. But--all the same--this present did not come from me."

"It had your initials," she said, still only half believing.

"Then it was probably a hoax," said Noel.

"Oh, no! That's not possible. It--it--you see, it's valuable." Olga's voice was almost piteous.

"I say, don't mind!" he said. "It's just some other fellow's impudence.

I'll kick him for you if I get the chance. You're quite sure about my initials?"

"Quite," she said.

"And what else was there?"

She frowned, "Only a Latin motto."

"Tell me!" he said persuasively.

She continued to frown. "It was '_Dum spiro spero_.'"

"Great Scott!" he said. "Do you think I should have been as presumptuous as that? I should have just said, '_With Noel's love_,' and you wouldn't have had the heart to fling it back again."

She smiled, not very willingly. "I can't understand it at all."

"I can," he said boldly. "I've known there was another fellow, ever since the first night I met you. But I've been hoping against hope that he didn't count. Does he count then?"

Olga turned sharply from him. She was suddenly trembling. "No!" she whispered.

He drew a step nearer to her. "Olga--forgive me--is that the truth?"

She controlled herself and turned back to him. "There is no one in India who would have sent me this," she said. "I can't account for it--in any way. Please forgive me for accusing you of what you haven't done.

And--and--"

She stopped short, for he had caught her hands in an eager, boyish clasp. "Olga, don't--there's a dear!" he begged with headlong ardour. "I don't love you any the less because I didn't do it. I believe myself it's a beastly hoax, and I'm just as furious as you are. But, I say, can't we found a partnership on it? Is it asking too much? Pull me up if it is! I don't want to be premature. Only I won't have you sick or sorry about it, anyhow so far as I am concerned. You were quite right in thinking that I loved you. I do, dear, I do!"

"But you mustn't!" she said. She left her hands in his, but the face she raised was tired and sad and unresponsive. "I feel a dreadful pig, Noel," she said, speaking as if it were an effort. "I almost made you say it, didn't I? And it's just the one thing I mustn't let you say.

You're so nice, so kind, such a jolly friend. But you're not--not--not--"

"Not eligible as a husband," suggested Noel.

"Don't use that horrid adjective!" she protested. "You make me feel worse and worse."

He laughed, his sudden, boyish laugh. "No, but there's nothing to feel bad about, really. And you didn't make me say it. I said it because I wanted to. Also, you're not bound to take me seriously. I'm not always in earnest--as you may have discovered. Look here, you've warned me off.

Can't we talk about something else now?"

"If you're sure you don't mind," she said, smiling rather wistfully.

He c.o.c.ked his eyebrows humorously. "Of course I mind. I mind enormously.

But that's of no consequence. By the way, I suppose your funny little uncle isn't given to playing practical jokes?"

"Nick? Why no!" Olga surveyed him in astonishment. "Nick is the soul of wisdom," she said.

"Is he though?" Noel looked amused. "I must get him to give me a few hints," he observed. "I wonder if he has left any breakfast. You know, I haven't had any yet."

"Oh, let us go back!" said Olga turning. "And please do forget all about this tiresome misunderstanding! Promise you will!"

He waved his hand. "The subject is closed and will never be reopened by me without your permission. At the same time, let me confess that I have presumed so far as to procure a small Christmas offering for your acceptance. You won't refuse it, will you?"

Olga looked up dubiously; but the handsome young face that looked back would only laugh.

"What is it?" she said at length.

Gaily he made answer. "It's a parrot--quite a youngster. I picked him up in the bazaar. He isn't properly fledged yet, but he promises well. I'm keeping him for a bit to educate him. But if you won't have him, I shall wring his neck."

"I'm sure you wouldn't!" she exclaimed.

He continued to laugh, though her face expressed horror. "And you will be morally responsible; think of that! It's tantamount to being guilty of murder. Horrible idea, isn't it? You--who never in your life killed so much as a moth! Hullo! What's up?"

For Olga had made a sudden, very curious gesture, almost as if she winced from a threatened blow. Her face was white and strained; she pressed her hands very tightly over her heart.

"What's up?" he repeated, in surprise.

She gazed at him with the eyes of one coming out of a stupor. "I don't know," she said. "I had a queer feeling as if--as if--" She paused, seeming to wrestle with some inner, elusive vision. "There! It's gone!"

she said, after a moment, disappointment and relief curiously mingled in her voice. "What were we talking about? Oh, yes, the parrot! It's very kind of you. I shall like to have it."

"I've christened it Noel," he remarked, with some complacence. "It's a Christmas present, you see."

"I see," said Olga, beginning to smile. "And you are teaching it to talk?"

"I'm only going to teach it one sentence," he said.

"Oh, what is it?"