He moved a little, stooped to her. "Olga," he said, speaking quickly,
"I'm not blaming you. You couldn't help it. It's just my damned luck.
But—if I'd met you—first—I'd have won you!"
The words came hot and passionate. His hand gripped hers with unconscious force. She made no attempt to free herself. Neither did she contradict him, for she knew that he spoke the truth.
Only, after a moment, she said, looking up at him, "I'm so dreadfully sorry."
"You couldn't help it," he reiterated almost savagely. "Anyhow you're happy; so I ought to be satisfied. I should be too, if I didn't have a sort of feeling that you'd have been happier with me. P'raps I'm a cad to tell you, but it's hit me rather hard."
He broke off, breathing heavily. She drew nearer to him, stroking his shoulder softly with her free hand. "Dear Noel, I love you for telling me," she said. "I feel dreadfully unworthy of your love. But I'm very, very grateful for it. You know that, don't you? And I—I'd marry you if my heart would let me, but,—dear, it won't."
He forced a laugh. "I know you would. That's just the damnable part of it. Life is an infernal swindle, isn't it? It's brimful of this sort of thing." He stood up with a jerk, and pulled himself together. "Forgive me, Olga! I didn't mean to let off steam in this way. I'm a selfish hound. Forget it! Only promise me that if you ever want a friend to turn to, you'll turn to me."
"Indeed I will!" she said very earnestly.
He held her hands very tightly for a moment and let them go; but they clung to his. She looked up at him appealingly.
"Noel," she said, with slight hesitation, "please—for my sake—be friendly with Max!"
He drew back instantly with a boyish gesture of distaste. "Oh, all right," he said.