"Can I help?" said Nick.
She shook her head with a quivering smile. "No, dear. It's a—it's a one-man job. But, if you don't mind, tell Noel I'm rather tired, but I'll come over to Weir in the morning. I'm going to tell him everything," she ended, squeezing his hand very tightly.
"Quite right, dear," said Nick.
"Yes, but—before I tell him—I want to—to write to Max." Olga's voice was very low. "I must put things right with him first. I must ask him to forgive me."
"Forgive you, sweetheart!"
"Yes, for—for being very unkind to him." Olga's lips quivered again, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I feel as if—as if I've been running into things in the dark, and doing a lot of harm," she said. "Of course everything is quite over—quite over—between us. He will understand that. But I want—I want to be friends with him—if—he—will let me. Nick dear, that's all. Hadn't you better go and have your tea?"
"And leave you to weep?" said Nick, with his face screwed up. "No, I don't think so."
"I'm not going to," she assured him. "I'm going to be—awfully sensible.
Really I am. Kiss me, Nick darling, and go!"
He bent over her. "You mustn't cry," he urged pathetically.
She clasped him close. "No, I won't! I won't! Nick—dearest, you're the very sweetest man in the world. I always have thought so, and I always shall. There!"