“But, Nick!” Olga’s eyes had begun to shine.  “It was very—­fine of him,” she said.  “I wish I’d known before I was so cross to him.  I—­I should have made allowances if I had known.”

“Quite so,” said Nick.  “Well, you can begin now if you feel so inclined, though I suppose the young man did no more than his duty after all.”

“Oh, Nick, a man isn’t obliged to go so far as that!” she exclaimed reproachfully.  “There are plenty who wouldn’t.”

“Doubtless,” agreed Nick, looking faintly quizzical.  “It was the action of a fool—­but a brave fool.  We’ll grant him that much, shall we?”

She laughed a little, her cheek against his shoulder.  “Don’t poke fun at me!  It isn’t fair.  You know he isn’t a fool perfectly well.”

“By Jove!  You are getting magnanimous!” laughed Nick.

“No, I’m not.  I’m only trying to be fair.  One must be that,” said Olga, whose honest soul abhorred injustice of any description.

“Oh, of course,” said Nick.  “You’ll have to spoil him now to make up for having been so—­’horrid,’ I think, is the proper term, isn’t it?  It’s the most comprehensive word in the woman’s vocabulary, comprising everything from slightly disagreeable to damned offensive.”

“Really, Nick!”

Nick grinned.  “Pardon my unparliamentary language!”

“But Nick, I’ve never been—­that!” protested Olga.

“A matter of opinion!” laughed Nick.

But Olga did not laugh, she only flushed a little and changed the subject.

About an hour later, Max, taking his hat from a peg in the hall, preparatory to departing for the cottage-hospital, discovered the lining thereof to be pulled away in order to accommodate a twisted scrap of paper which had been pinned to it in evident haste.

He carried the hat to the consulting-room and there detached and examined its contents.  He smoothed out the crumpled morsel with his customary deliberation, drawing his shaggy red brows together over a few lines of minute writing which became visible as he did so.

   “Dear Max,” he read, “I’m sorry I’ve been a beast to
   you lately.  Please don’t take any notice of this but let us
   just be friends for the future.  Yours,

   “Olga.”

There was no mockery in the green eyes as they deciphered the impulsive note, nor did the somewhat hard lips smile.  Max stood for some seconds after reading it, staring fixedly at the paper, and when at length he looked up his face wore a guarded expression with which many of his patients were familiar.  He took a pocket-book from an inner pocket and laid the crumpled scrap within it.  Then, without more ado, he put on his hat and departed.

Olga was by that time spinning merrily along the road to Brethaven, having parted with Nick at the railway-station.  Violet was seated beside her, and the old servant Mitchel sat sourly behind them.  He had a rooted objection to the back-seat, and held the opinion that a woman at the wheel was out of place.