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."
There was so much of finality in his speech that Olga became aware of the futility of argument. She felt moreover totally unfit for it. She only hazarded one more protest.
"But what about Violet?"
"She can take care of herself," he said. "I will tell her."
There was no help for it. Olga gave in without further protest. But she did venture to say as he released her hand, "Please don't bother about bringing me anything! I couldn't possibly take it."
"Leave that to me!" said Max brusquely.
He left her then, to her unutterable relief. There was no doubt about it; she was feeling very ill, so ill that the business of undressing was almost more than she could accomplish. But she did manage it at last, and crept thankfully into bed, laying her throbbing head upon the pillow with the vague wonder if she would ever have the strength to lift it again.
From that she drifted into a maze of pain that blurred all thought, and from which she only roused herself to find Max once more by her side. He was watching her closely.
"Is your head very bad?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.