"Yes. I love her because she appeals to all that is young and good in me; because she represents the highest type of womanhood. With her as my wife, why, I should be willing to renounce my country, and your indebtedness would be crossed out of existence with one stroke of the pen."
The colonel's haggard face grew light with sudden hopefulness.
"I have been," the count went on, studying the ash of his cigar, "till this night what the world and my own conscience consider an honorable man. I have never wronged a man or woman personally. What I have done on the order of duty does not agitate my conscience. I am simply a machine. The moral responsibility rests with my czar. When I saw your daughter, I deeply regretted that you were her father."
The colonel grew rigid in his chair.
"Do not misunderstand me. Before I saw her, you were but the key to what I desired. As her father the matter took on a personal side. I could not very conscientiously make love to your daughter and at the same time—" Karloff left the sentence incomplete.
"And Betty?"—in half a whisper.
"Has refused me,"—quietly. "But I have not given her up; no, I have not given her up."
"What do you mean to do?"
Karloff got up and walked about the room. "Make her my wife,"—simply. He stooped and studied the titles of some of the books in the cases. He turned to find that the colonel had risen and was facing him with flaming eyes.
"I demand to know how you intend to accomplish this end," the colonel said. "My daughter shall not be dragged into this trap."