"I bought them," said Piers. "It made the last proof of his baseness."
"You gave money for them? And just that you might give them to me?"
"Wouldn't you have done the same, to clear the memory of someone you loved?"
Olga laid the packet aside; then, with a quick movement, stepped towards him, caught his hand, pressed it to her lips. Piers was taken by surprise, and could not prevent the action; but at once Olga's own hand was prisoned in his; they stood face to face, she blushing painfully, he pale as death, with lips that quivered in their vain effort to speak.
"I shall be grateful to you as long as I live," the girl faltered, turning half away, trying gently to release herself.
Piers kissed her hand, again and again, still speechless. When he allowed her to draw it away, he stood gazing at her like a man bewildered; there was moisture on his forehead; he seemed to struggle for breath.
"Let us sit down again and talk," said Olga, glancing at him.
But he moved towards her, the strangest look in his eyes, the fixed expressionless gaze of a somnambulist.
"Olga——"
"No, no!" she exclaimed, as if suddenly stricken with fear, throwing out her arms to repel him. "You didn't mean that! It is my fault. You never meant that."