“Will Nick go to India without me, Muriel?”

“No, dear.  He is going to wait till you can go too,” Muriel answered.

“Oh, Muriel!” She carried the quiet hand impulsively to her lips.

Muriel smiled.  “Are you so anxious to go?”

“I should just think I am!  But I know I’m horridly selfish.  How can you bear to let him go?”

“My dear,” Muriel said, “I don’t think I could bear to keep him when I know he wants to go.  You will have to take care of him for me.”

“Oh, I will!” said Olga earnestly.

Very little more passed between them on the subject then, but it filled Olga’s mind throughout the day, even to the exclusion of that sinister shadow that still lurked at the back of her consciousness.

Nick did not visit her until the evening, and then she at once began to talk of the topic that so occupied her thoughts.

“Do you know, I had actually forgotten about going to Sharapura, Nick?” she said.  “I’m so glad I’ve remembered.  It’s something to be quick and get well for.”

“Hear, hear!” said Nick, with a whoop of delight.

She laughed at his enthusiasm, and he suddenly recollected himself and entreated her to keep calm.

“If Jim knew I had made you laugh, he’d kick me to a jelly, and give you a blue pill.”

Whereat she laughed a little more.  “That would be more like Max than Daddy Jim.”  And there suddenly she stopped short, the colour flooding her pale face.  “Why,” she said, frowning confusedly, “I had forgotten Max too.  How is Max?”

“He’s all right,” said Nick lightly.  “Shall I give him your love?”

“Oh, no!” she said quickly.  “Don’t give him anything of mine!  He—­wouldn’t understand.”

“All right, my chicken,” said Nick, with cheery unconcern.  “He’s got a little brother in the East by the way.  I wonder if we shall run across him.”

She did not echo the wonder.  Her forehead was drawn in the old, painful lines, and she scarcely responded to the rest of his airy conversation.

When Dr. Jim visited her later in the evening he grunted disapproval.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked her, with keen eyes on her troubled face.

“I don’t know,” she murmured wistfully.

“Yes, you do.  Come, tell me!” He sat down on the edge of the bed with the evident determination to get at the root of the matter.

She held back for a little, but finally, finding him obdurate, sat up and drew herself within the circle of his arm.

“There, my dear!  What is it?” said Dr. Jim.

She hid her face on his shoulder.  “Dad, it—­it’s something to do with Max,” she whispered.

“Max?  Who is Max?” demanded Dr. Jim inquisitorially, the while he cuddled her close.

“Oh, you know, dear,—­Dr. Wyndham,” she murmured.

“Oh!  So you call him Max, do you?” said Jim drily.  “That’s an innovation, so far as I am concerned.”