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.
CHAPTER XII
THE PAL
Nick's letter to his wife was written that morning while Olga lay on the study-sofa, comfortably lazy for once, and listened to the scratching of his pen.
The boys had been sent to church, Violet was again devouring a book and smoking Major Hunt-Goring's cigarettes in the hammock, and all was very quiet.
"I suppose I had better write to Jim too," Nick said, as he looked up at length from his completed epistle.
"I was just thinking I would," said Olga.
"No. Writing is strictly prohibited by your medical adviser." Nick grinned over his shoulder. "I'll send him a line myself."