Somehow she did not think of that.

She only leaned against the wall with her hands over her face and wept.
Max, with his hands deep in his pockets, strolled about the room, whistling below his breath.

The gleam had died out of his eyes, but the brows met fiercely above them.

His face was the face of a man working out a difficult problem.
Suddenly he walked up to her, and stood still.
"Look here," he said; "can't you manage to be sensible for a minute?
If you go on in this way you will soon get hysterical, and I don't think my treatment for hysterics would appeal to you.

Olga, are you listening ?" Yes, she was listening--listening tensely, because she could not help herself.
"I'm sorry you think me a brute," he proceeded.