"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.