"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."