Olga gasped and said no more. Meekly she laid her work on the chair by the hammock and accompanied him to the house. It was the most painful predicament she had ever been in. She knew that there was no escape for her, knew, moreover, that she richly deserved her punishment; yet, as he held open the surgery-door for her, she made one more appeal.
"I'm sure I can't do it. I shall do more harm than good, and hurt you horribly."
"Oh, but you'll enjoy that," he said.
"Indeed, I shan't!" Olga was almost in tears by this time. "Couldn't you do it yourself with—with a forceps?"
"Afraid not," said Max.
He went to a cupboard and took out a bottle containing something which he measured into a glass and filled up with water.
"Fortify yourself with this," he said, handing it to her, "while I select the instruments of torture."
Olga shuddered visibly. "I don't want it. I only want to go."
"Well, you can't go," he returned, "until you have extracted that bit of needle of yours. So drink that, and be sensible!"
He pulled out a drawer with the words, and she watched him, fascinated, as he made his selection. He glanced up after a moment.