British Empire"--an epithet that Olga cherished jealously because it had
not been bestowed wholly in jest.

His general appearance was certainly the reverse of imposing, and in
this particular, to her intense gratification, Olga resembled him. She
had the same quick, pale eyes, with the shrewdness of observation that
never needed to look twice, the same colourless brows and lashes and
insignificant features; but she possessed one redeeming point which Nick
lacked. What with him was an impish grin of sheer exuberance, with her
was a smile of rare enchantment, very fleeting, with a fascination quite
indescribable but none the less capable of imparting to her pale young
face a charm that only the greatest artists have ever been able to
depict. People were apt to say of Olga Ratcliffe that she had a face
that lighted up well. Her ready intelligence was ardent enough to
illuminate her. No one was ever dull in her society. Certainly in her
temperament at least there was nothing colorless. Where she loved she
loved intensely, and she hated in the same way, quite thoroughly and
without dissimulation.

Maxwell Wyndham, for instance, the subject of her recent conversation
with Nick, she had disliked wholeheartedly from the commencement of
their acquaintance, and he was perfectly aware of the fact. He could not
well have been otherwise, but he was by no means disconcerted thereby.
It even seemed as if he took a malicious pleasure in developing her
dislike upon every opportunity that presented itself, and since he was
living in the house as her father's assistant, opportunities were by no
means infrequent.

But there was no open hostility between them. Under Dr. Ratcliffe's eye,
his daughter was always frigidly polite to the unwelcome outsider, and