"Come in."
Standing on the threshold, she merely said:
"Here is a telegraphic despatch, which may require a reply."
"Come in," repeated Mr. Palma.
Advancing, she saw with amazement that he was kneeling close to the couch, with Olga's hand in his, and his bowed head close to her face. When she reached the lounge she found that Olga was weeping bitterly, while now and then heavy sobs convulsed her feeble frame.
"Mr. Palma, do you want to throw her back into delirium by this cruel excitement? Do go away, and leave us in peace."
"She will feel far happier after a little while, and tears will ease her heart. Olga, you have not yet given me your promise."
"Be patient! Some day you will learn perhaps that though the idol you worshipped so long has fallen from the niche where you set it, even the dust is sacred; and you want no strange touch to defile it. Oh the love, the confidence, the idolatry—I have so lavishly squandered! Because it was wasted, and all—all is lost, can I mourn the less?"
"At least give me your promise to wait two years, to follow my advice, to accede to my plan for your future."
He wiped the tears from her cheek, and after some hesitation she said brokenly: