The words were few, but they thrilled her as never had she been thrilled before. There came again to her that breathless feeling as though an immense wave had suddenly burst over her. She raised her face gasping, half-frightened. She even had a wild impulse to turn and flee.
But it was gone on the instant, for very suddenly Max Wyndham's arms closed about her, holding her fast, and she had no choice but to surrender. With a sob she yielded herself to him, clinging very tightly, her face hidden with a desperate shyness against his shoulder.
He spoke no word of love, simply holding her in silence during those first great moments. But at length his hand came up and lay quietly, reassuringly, upon her head. She quivered under it for a little. He waited till she was still.
"Olga," he said then, speaking very softly, "will you tell me something?"
"Perhaps," she whispered back.
"Why are you afraid of me? You never used to be."
She clung a little closer to him and was silent.
"Don't you know?" he said.
"Not altogether." Tremulously she made answer.
"I've had a feeling—all this time—that you were angry with me for some reason."