"It must be if you say so," he rejoined, "though there again it is more my misfortune than my fault. If my patients elect to make me the butt of their neurotic imagination, surely I am more to be pitied than blamed."
"No, I don't pity you at all," Olga said. "It's want of sympathy, you know. You go and do a splendid thing like—like—" She stopped suddenly.
"Please go on!" said Max. "Let's hear my good points, by all means!"
But Olga was in obvious confusion. "I didn't mean to mention it," she said. "It just slipped out. I was really thinking of—what happened last night."
He frowned instantly. "Who told you anything about it?"
"Nick."
"I should like to wring his skinny little neck," said Max.
"How dare you?" said Olga indignantly.
"You don't think I'm afraid of you, do you?" he said, with a smile.
"No," she admitted rather grudgingly. "I don't think you are afraid of anyone or anything. But it is a pity you spoil things by being so—unfriendly."