"Won't you have some cognac before you go out? The night is cold," Herman urged.
"No, I thank you; I have an important engagement in the morning, and it is now too late. Madam, I must bid you good-night. I have really spent a very pleasant evening."
Millar started toward the door. Olga uttered a half-suppressed cry, and he turned inquiringly.
"I left a letter lying here on the table; did you, perhaps, pick it up?" she asked nervously.
She was almost weeping and spoke in a half-hysterical tone. Millar, without changing countenance, drew the letter from his pocket.
"Perhaps this is it," he said, holding it up. "If it is of interest to your husband——"
He made a movement as if to hand it to Herman. Fear clutched at Olga's heart and she cried quickly:
"No, no, it was not that; it was nothing."
She forced herself to laugh. Millar bowed with impressive politeness and left the room. Herman bowed the strange guest out, and then noticed for the first time Olga's weariness and distress.
"You look tired, dear," he said tenderly. "It has been a long evening."