"Good. I shall try to express your thoughts," he said. "Cold, formal?"
"Yes, it must be so," Olga said.
"It is finished forever?"
"Forever."
"Then write," he ordered.
She settled herself to her task. Leaning over her, Millar suggested a sinister hypnotist bending a helpless victim to his will. He dictated, while Olga wrote:
"I have found out what I dreaded to learn—that you love me. Your behavior to-night convinced me. I could not place any other interpretation on it, and my own heart answered, I cannot, dare not, see you again. God knows I want to; I long for the happiness that I might find with you, but I must not. Only the certainty that I am not to see you impels me to this confession. Good-by forever."
When this was finished Olga dropped her pen and stared at the letter. Before she could do anything, Millar had taken the sheet of paper, blotted it, folded it and placed it within the envelope, which he deposited in his pocket.
"What have I written?" Olga cried, bewildered.
"The last letter," Millar replied, with a smile of triumph. "I will deliver it to Karl," he said.