She wondered still more when she found him calmly established behind the morning paper in an arm-chair in the dining-room. He laid it aside at her entrance, and rose to greet her.
"Well?" he said, with her hand in his.
She looked up to find his eyes piercingly upon her. They shone intensely green in the morning light.
She removed her hand somewhat abruptly. There was something in his manner that she resented, without knowing why. "Well?" she said.
"How do you find yourself this morning?" asked Max.
"I'm perfectly well, thank you," said Olga briefly.
"Ready to start jam-making?" he suggested.
Olga went to the coffee-urn. "I really don't know," she said. "I've had other things to think about."
He smiled a little, the superior, one-sided smile she most detested.
"You mustn't let the fruit go bad," he observed, "after all my trouble."
Olga peered into the coffee-urn, without replying. Max in an exasperating mood could be very exasperating indeed. He pulled out the chair next to her, and sat down.