Thea tried to free her hand from his grasp.
"What is the matter, Lothar?" she asked, alarmed by his expression and his strange conduct. "What do you want with Alma?"
"Why did she hurry away as though there was some mystery to conceal?"
"Good heavens! she went to lay aside her wraps. I had detained her here to read a letter."
"A letter? What letter?"
Thea shook her head and tried to smile.
"It was nothing," she said; "nothing worth mentioning," but her lip quivered.
Lothar still gazed at her with eyes that were menacing and yet unutterably sad.
"But that is not what I would ask," he said, retreating a step or two without turning his eyes from her face. "I pray you tell me,--how long have you been receiving Werner's visits,--how long have you known that he loves you?"
"Lothar!" she almost screamed, involuntarily steadying herself by the table as if she needed a support; every trace of colour faded from her face, and she muttered beneath her breath, "He is mad!"