He held her closely again, her head against his heart.  “No, that’s not the reason,” he said softly into her ear.  “Something is bothering you, isn’t it?”

She swallowed once or twice and nodded.  “I’m—­foolish,” she managed to utter after a moment.

“Never mind if you can’t help it!” he said.  “Tell me what it’s about!”

But she was silent.

“Afraid I shan’t understand?” he questioned.

Her hand nestled into his, but she kept her face down.  “I wrote a long, long letter to Dad last night,” she remarked irrelevantly, after a pause.  “He—­I’m afraid he’ll be rather surprised.”

“I wonder,” said Max.

She glanced up for an instant.  “Did he know you were coming out here to me?” she asked.

“He did.”  There was a queer note of dry exultation in Max’s reply.

“Oh, Max!” Her head went back to its resting-place.  “He thought I didn’t like you, you know.  What—­what did he say?”

“He told me I was a fool,” said Max.

Olga laughed.  “Dear Dad!  I suppose he thought you were wasting your time over a wild goose chase.”

“Yes; he didn’t anticipate my catching my wild goose, I admit.  Kersley on the other hand was so confident that he practically hoofed me out of England.  He wants a married partner, you know, so perhaps he was not altogether disinterested.”

Again the complacent note sounded in Max’s voice.

Olga’s fingers closed tightly on his hand.  “Is that why you are so anxious to get married?” she asked, in a muffled voice.

Max’s fingers responded so swiftly and so mercilessly that she cried out with the pain.  “Max!  How brutal!”

“You deserved it,” said Max without compunction.

“But I didn’t!  I only asked a simple question,” she protested.

“No, you didn’t; it was a compound one.”  He opened his hand and sternly regarded the crushed fingers.  “If you develop claws, Olga,” he said, “you must expect trouble.”

She laughed again.  “It isn’t a question of developing:  they’re there—­full-grown.  Do you remember that day I stabbed you with my darning-needle?”

“I do,” said Max.  He turned his hand over and showed her a small white scar on the back.  “I suppose you never realized that that was the beginning of everything?”

“It wasn’t with me!” declared Olga.  “I could have slain you that night!”

“Because I told you you ought to be whipped,” said Max.  “It was quite true, you know.  Dr. Jim would have said the same.  He would probably have done it too.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t!” Olga lay back in the hammock with the scarred hand between her own.  “Dad is very just.  He would have realized that you were quite insufferable.”

“That wouldn’t have justified you, my child,” maintained Max.

She snapped her fingers at him.  “I’d do it again to-day if you were as horrid as you were then.”