For Olga had made a sudden, very curious gesture, almost as if she winced from a threatened blow. Her face was white and strained; she pressed her hands very tightly over her heart.
"What's up?" he repeated, in surprise.
She gazed at him with the eyes of one coming out of a stupor. "I don't know," she said. "I had a queer feeling as if—as if—" She paused, seeming to wrestle with some inner, elusive vision. "There! It's gone!" she said, after a moment, disappointment and relief curiously mingled in her voice. "What were we talking about? Oh, yes, the parrot! It's very kind of you. I shall like to have it."
"I've christened it Noel," he remarked, with some complacence. "It's a
Christmas present, you see."
"I see," said Olga, beginning to smile. "And you are teaching it to talk?"
"I'm only going to teach it one sentence," he said.
"Oh, what is it?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "I don't think I'd better tell you."
"But why not?"
"It'll make you cross."