"Of course I did. He—we thought perhaps it was a hoax."
Max grunted; she wondered if he were seriously displeased. And then abruptly he turned her thoughts in another direction. "Well, now that you know the truth,—what are you going to do about it?"
The question came with the utmost coolness, but yet in some fashion it sounded like a challenge. She felt compelled to turn and face him.
Thick-set and British, he confronted her. "Before you decide," he said, "there's just one little thing I should like you to remember. You may not have been in love with me—I don't think you were; but you engaged yourself to me quite a long time ago."
Olga's hands were locked together. But she met the challenge unflinching, unafraid. Quite suddenly she knew how to answer it. Yet she waited, not answering, her pale eyes shining, her whole being strung to throbbing expectation.
He came a step nearer to her, looking at her very intently. "Well?" he said.
She made a little fluttering movement with her clasped hands. Her face was raised unfalteringly to his. "I haven't forgotten," she said.
"But you thought I had," said Max.
Her lips quivered. "So many things have happened since then," she said, in a low voice.
"What of that?" he said, and suddenly there was a deep note in his voice that she had never heard before. "Do you think that so long as the world holds us both I would be content without you?"