He let her go very abruptly and leaned against one of the verandah posts as if he needed support.
Olga tilted herself over the side of the hammock and stood up. "You couldn't help not caring," she said. "But—you might have been a little kinder. You needn't have made her hate and fear you."
Max surveyed her grimly from under drawn brows. "My dear," he said, "you simply don't know what you are talking about."
That fired her. A quiver of passion went suddenly through her. She faced him as she had faced him in the old days with a courage that sustained itself.
"Indeed, I know!" she said. "Better than it is in your power to understand. Oh, I know now what made her—hate you so."
The last words came with a rush, almost under her breath; but they were fully audible to the man lounging before her.
He did not speak at once, and yet he did not give the impression of being at a loss. He continued to lounge while he contemplated her with eyes of steady inscrutability.
He spoke at length with extreme deliberation. "And so you want to take me to task for breaking her heart, do you?"
"She was my friend," said Olga quickly.
He stood up slowly. "And would you have liked it better if I had made love to her?"