He frowned a little. "My dear girl, what particular case is it you have on your mind?"
She hesitated. "You won't be vexed?"
"Vexed? No!" he said; but he continued to frown slightly notwithstanding.
"I hope you won't be," Olga said, "because I simply can't argue about it. Max, I sometimes think to myself that if—you hadn't known—and Violet hadn't come to know—about—about her mother—things might have been—very different."
"Meaning I should have fallen in love with her?" said Max.
She nodded. "It may be a breach of confidence, but—I think I'll tell you now. Max, she cared for you."
She spoke the words with an effort, her eyes turned from him. Perhaps she was afraid that she might encounter cynicism in the vigilant green eyes, and she could not have endured it at that moment.
But at least there was none in his voice when he said: "Yes, I know she did. That was what made her hate me so badly afterwards. I am very sorry, Olga; but, for your comfort let me tell you this. I should never—under any circumstances—have come to care for her. You won't like me for saying it, but she was never more to me than a very interesting case, and, apart from medical investigation, she would simply not have existed so far as I was concerned. She didn't appeal to me."
Olga winced a little. "Oh, Max, but she was so beautiful!" she urged wistfully.
He made a slight gesture of impatience. "I don't dispute it. But what of it? My brain is not the sort to be turned by beauty. There was too much of it for my taste. She was exotic. That type of beauty gives me indigestion."