"And now," said Dr. Max Wyndham, "tell me what you did it for!"

She looked at him then with quick defiance. She had endured much in
silence, mainly because she had known that she had deserved it; but
there was a limit. She was not going to be brought to book as though she
had been a naughty child.

"You had yourself alone to thank for it," she declared with indignation.
"If--if you hadn't interfered and behaved intolerably, it wouldn't have
happened."

"What a naïve way of expressing it!" said Max. "Shall I tell you how I
regard the 'happening'?"

"You can do as you like," she flung back. She was longing to go, but
stood her ground lest departure should look like flight.

Max took out and lighted another cigarette before he spoke again. Then:
"I regard it," he said very deliberately, "as a piece of spiteful
mischief for which you deserve a sound whipping--which it would give me
immense pleasure to administer."

Olga's pale face flamed scarlet. Her eyes flashed up to his in fiery
disdain.

"You!" she said, with withering scorn. "You!"

"Well, what about me?"