CHAPTER XI
THE IMPOSSIBLE
Could it be true? Sleeping and waking, sleeping and waking, all through the night Olga asked herself the question; and when morning came she was still unconvinced. Nothing in Max's manner had ever given her cause to imagine for an instant that he cared for her. Never for an instant had she seriously imagined that he could care. Till quite recently she had believed that a very decided antipathy had existed between them. True, it had not thriven greatly since the writing of her note; but that had been an event of only two days before. She was sure he had not cared for her before that. He could not have begun to care since! And if he had, how in wonder could Nick have come to know?
Certainly he knew most things. His uncanny shrewdness had moved her many a time before to amazement and admiration. This quickness of intellect was hers also, but in a far smaller degree. She could leap to conclusions herself and often find them correct. But Nick—Nick literally swooped upon the truth with unerring precision. She had never known him to miss his mark. But this time—could he be right this time? It was such a monstrous notion. Its very contemplation bewildered her, carried her off her feet, made her giddy. She began to be a little frightened, to cast back her thoughts over all her intercourse with Max to ascertain if she had ever given him the smallest reason for loving her. Most emphatically she had never felt drawn towards him. In fact, she had often been repelled. In all their skirmishes she had invariably had the worst of it. He had simply despised her resistance, treating it as a thing of nought. And yet—there was no denying it—their intimacy had grown. Who but an intimate friend could have made that suggestion for encompassing her deliverance from the persecutions of that hateful man? Her face burned afresh over the memory of this. It had certainly been a desperate remedy—one to which she would never have given her consent could she for a single instant have suspected that it had been dictated by anything more than a friendly desire for her welfare.
Surely, argued her practical mind, he could never have been so foolish as to let himself care deeply for one who so obviously had only the most casual regard for him! She knew women did these silly things, but surely not men—and hard-headed men like Max!
Besides, what could he possibly see in her? Was it not Violet upon whom his attention was constantly focussed? And small wonder, his own repudiation of sentiment notwithstanding! Did not all men look at her with dazzled eyes? Even Nick paid her that much homage, though Olga was privately a little doubtful as to whether he altogether liked her brilliant friend.
No, she had never for an instant seriously contemplated this possibility which Nick had whispered into her ear. She wondered what had made him do it? Had he meant to put her on her guard. Or—staggering thought!—had he thought to wake her heart to some response? Was he taking Max's part? Did he want her to be kind to him?
She pictured Max's wrath, sardonically expressed, should he ever become acquainted with that move of Nick's. She fancied he did not much like Nick and that suspicion of itself was quite sufficient to present him in an unfavourable light to her half-involuntary criticism. How could she ever possibly begin to care for a man who did not admire her hero? Oh, why had she ever placed herself under an obligation to him, ever consented to the forging of that bond between them, elastic though it might be?
Of course it could be severed. He had said so. And severed it should be at once. But why had she ever suffered it? It weighed upon her intolerably now that she realized in what foundry its links had been cast. Even her enemy's impertinences would be easier to bear—now that she knew.
Again, as morning broke, she told herself that this thing was an impossibility after all, that Nick had been misled, or had spoken in jest. It seemed the only sane conclusion by the practical light of day, and, reassured, at last she slipped into untroubled slumber. Yes, she was sure Max was much too shrewd to let himself be caught by a girl who did not even want him. He would never waste his valuable time over such as she.
Yet while she slept, a curious memory came to her—a memory that was half a dream—of a hand that had stroked her head with a sure and soothing touch, of lips very near her hair that had whispered words of tenderness. It was not a disturbing dream by any means. She slept through it into a deeper peace with a smile upon her face.
She was finally aroused without ceremony by Violet, who skipped airily into the room, clad in a daring sea-green wrapper that revealed more of her charms than it concealed.
"Oh, my dear soul, are you awake?" was her greeting, as she perched herself on the foot of the bed. "I've just had the very sweetest note from Hunt-Goring accompanied by a box of the most exquisite Eastern cigarettes—'Companions of the Harem,' he says they are called. And how are you feeling now, you poor wan thing? What interesting shadows you have developed! I wish I could make my eyes look like that. The revered Max suffered agonies about you last night, and nearly slew me with a glance because I dared to touch my mandolin after dinner. Poor little Nick was rather blue too though he did at least try to be courteous. What made you go and get sunstroke, Allegretto? Rather unnecessary, wasn't it? He was quite obviously at your feet without that. Of course you realize how completely my wiles have been thrown away on him. I declare I was never so humiliated in my life. However, I daresay I shall get over it. If I don't, I shall take refuge in Hunt-Goring's harem. Good gracious! What now?"
A smart rap at the door had interrupted her plans for her future. She sprang off the end of Olga's bed, and stood poised on one foot, listening.
"Can I come in?" asked Max on the other side of the door.
Olga's face flushed scarlet. Violet shot her a glance of mock dismay.
"My dear, I wonder which would be the least improper," she said. "To go or to remain?"
"For pity's sake, put something on!" urged Olga. "There's my dressing-gown. Take that!"
But Violet had already snatched up a bath-towel which she draped about her with scarf-like effect.
"This will do quite well and is infinitely more artistic. Pray come in,
Dr. Wyndham! The patient is quite ready for you."
Max came in. He scarcely looked at either girl, but halted just inside the room, holding the door wide open.
"One at a time, Miss Campion, please!" he said curtly.
"Dear, dear!" laughed Violet, with audacious mirth. "Then you had better call again later when I have concluded my visit."
He turned his eyes straight upon her; they were piercingly green in the morning light. "Your visit," he said, "is a direct violation of my orders. I must trouble you to conclude it at once."
He had never used that tone to her before. She opened her eyes very wide, meeting his look with the utmost nonchalance.
"Dear me!" she said. "How fierce we are this morning! And what if Olga prefers my company to yours?"
"That has nothing to do with it," he returned. "I am here professionally.".
"And if Olga is not requiring your professional services?" she suggested daringly.
"Oh, Violet dear, I think you had better go," interposed Olga nervously.
"You can come back again when you are dressed."
Violet's beautiful eyes suddenly gleamed. She moved to the door, stepping daintily with her bare feet.
"Dr. Wyndham," she said, "I congratulate you on your conquest. It has been a ridiculously easy capture, but I warned her she had met her fate long ago. No doubt she has wisely decided that to run away any longer would be a waste of energy. En tout cas,—" she made an airy gesture of the hands,—"my blessing be upon you both!"
And with that, lightly she crossed the threshold, and was gone, flitting like a sunbeam from the room.
Quietly Max closed the door. He did not look at Olga, but walked straight to the window and stood there with his back turned and his hands in his pockets, staring outwards.
"I hope you don't object to an early visit," he said, after a moment. "I want to get my rounds done in good time to-day, and I didn't like to leave without seeing you first."
"I don't mind at all," stammered Olga in reply. "But—really, there's no reason for you to—to bother about me. I've had a good night, and—and I'm going to get up."
"Really?" he said. "You're not going raspberry picking, I hope?"
She laughed somewhat tremulously. Violet's vindictive thrust had embarrassed rather than hurt her. She looked at the great square shoulders that intervened between her eyes and the morning sunshine, and wondered why he did not turn. Was it possible that he could be feeling embarrassed too? She could scarcely imagine it; but yet the position was sufficiently intolerable for him also.
"I'm afraid the raspberries will have to go," she said regretfully, "unless the boys—"
"They would probably eat 'em as fast as they picked 'em," observed Max grimly. "I know boys."
Again, rather feebly, she laughed. "It seems a pity," she said.
"I shouldn't worry," said Max. "Besides, it's Sunday. You couldn't make jam on Sunday in any case."
"I could, though," said Olga, "if the fruit wouldn't keep till Monday."
He laughed. "What an admirably practical spirit!"
"Thank you!" said Olga. "That's the first nice thing you have ever said to me."
"Oh, no, it isn't!" said Max. "May I come and take a survey now?"
"I can't imagine what you are waiting for," she returned with renewed spirit.
She could meet him on the old fencing-ground without a tremor; at least so she fancied. But the next instant he disconcerted her in the most unexpected fashion.
"I have been waiting for your pulse to steady down," he said coolly.
"Oh!" said Olga.
He left the window and came to her side. She gave him her hand with an abrupt, childish movement.
"It's great nonsense!" she said, with burning cheeks. "You can't possibly make me out ill."
She saw one side of his mouth go up. He took out his watch, but he looked at her.
"You don't imagine that I want to keep you as a patient, do you?" he said.
"You know you always like people best when they are ill," she retorted.
"Do I?" he said.
"Well, don't you?"
"I wonder what makes you think so," he said.
She looked straight up at him with something of defiance. "You never bother to be nice to people unless they are ill."
He frowned a little. "I've been as nice as you would let me," he said.
"Yes, yes," said Olga rather hurriedly. "Of course we are friends. But, Max, there's something I want to say to you. It's very particular. Be quick with my pulse!"
He let her hand slip from his. "It's about a hundred and fifty," he observed, "but that seems to be the normal rate with you. I don't think you had better talk to me now unless it's to be a professional consultation. You can get up if you want to, and I will give Nick a list of the things you are not to do."
He would have gone with the words, but imperiously she detained him.
"You must wait a minute now. I want to speak about—about that compact we made the other day. You—you knew I was only joking, didn't you? You didn't—really—? tell Major Hunt-Goring—that?"
"Yes, I did," said Max. "And do you generally go and cry into the surgery towel when you are enjoying a joke?"
"Oh, Max! You told him?" Her face was tragic. "And what did he say?"
"He congratulated me," said Max.
"Max!"
"My dear girl, I'm telling you the truth; but really, since you have discharged yourself as cured, this has become a highly improper situation. Don't you think we had better postpone this discussion to a more suitable moment?"
Max was openly laughing into her face of distress. She suddenly felt abundantly reassured. He could not—surely—look and speak like this if he dreamed of wooing her in earnest!
"I don't want any discussion," she hastened to tell him. "Only—please, do go and tell Major Hunt-Goring that—that—there's been a mistake, and—in short—"
"In short that you've thrown me over?" said Max. "Oh, thanks, no! You can tell him that—if you wish!"
"He must be told," she said.
"I don't see why." Max smiled upon her with good-natured indulgence.
"Have you suddenly taken fright at something?" he asked.
She smiled also, but a little anxiously. "I'm afraid it wasn't a very wise move after all. I want to put an end to it."
"You can't put an end to an engagement that doesn't exist," he said. "You will have to wait till I propose, and then you can go and tell everyone—including Hunt-Goring—that you have said No."
It was impossible to treat the matter seriously. She had a feeling that he was deliberately restraining her from so doing, deliberately offering her an easy means of escape from her own indiscretion. She seized upon it, eager to convince him that she had never deemed him in earnest.
"Do propose soon then!" she said. "And let us get it over!"
He turned to the door. "Given a suitable opportunity," he said, "if shall be done to-night."
"To-night!" she echoed sharply.
She caught the mocking gleam of his eyes for an instant, and her heart misgave her.
"Really, Max!" she said, in a tone of protest.
"Yes, really," said Max. "Good-bye!"
He was gone. She heard him stride away down the passage, and go downstairs. A little later she heard the banging of the surgery-door and the sound of his feet on the gravel. They passed under her window. They paused.
"Olga," he called up to her, "do you mind if a pal of mine comes to lunch?"
Her heart gave a great jolt at the sound of his voice. She swallowed twice before she found her own.
"Who is it?" she called then.
"Someone very nice," he assured her, and she caught a laugh in the words. "Someone you'll like."
"Anyone I know?" she asked.
"No."
She heard him strike a match to light a cigarette. He would not be looking upwards then. Impulse moved her. She left her bed and went to the window.
He was standing immediately below her, a thick-set, British figure of immense strength. A brisk breeze was blowing. She watched him nursing the flame between his hands, firm, powerful hands, full of confidence. The flame flickered and went out. Instantly he threw up his head and saw her. His cigarette was alight.
She drew back sharply as he waved her an airy salute.
"Adieu, fair lady!" called the mocking voice. "I conclude the aforementioned pal may come, then?"
He did not wait for her answer. She heard him whistling cheerily as he went in the direction of the coach-house, and the ting of his bicycle-bell a moment after as he rode away. When that reached her ears, Olga sat down very suddenly on the edge of her bed with the limpness of relaxed tension, and realized that she was feeling very weak.