"I'm dreadfully sorry," she said, and her voice came dull and oddly indifferent. "You are both so good to me. But I think one generally has to face the worst things in life by oneself. Nick, I asked you a little while ago to fill in a gap in my memory—to tell me something I had forgotten. Do you remember?"
"I do," said Nick. Like Max, he was watching her closely, but his eyes moved unceasingly; they glimmered behind his colourless lashes with a weird fitfulness.
Olga was looking straight at him. She had never stood in awe of Nick.
"You didn't do it," she said in the same level, tired voice. "You put me off. You refused to fill in the gap."
"Well?" said Nick. His tone was abrupt; for the first time in all her knowledge of him it sounded stern.
But Olga remained unmoved. "Would you refuse if I asked you to do it now?" she said.
"Perhaps," he answered.
She turned from him to Max. "You would refuse too?" she said, and this time there was a tremor of bitterness in her voice. "You always have refused."
"It happens to be my rule never to discuss my cases with anyone outside my profession," he said.
"And that was your only reason?" A sudden pale gleam shot up in Olga's eyes; she stiffened a little as though an electric current ran through her as she faced him.