"Why, I am a goose! What am I confessing here to myself? That I am in love with Karl? What silly nonsense. Come, Olga, you are getting romantic."
Herman came after luncheon and they drove together to the studio building. Old Heinrich admitted them, his eyes growing big and round at the imposing splendor of Herman's greatcoat and the bewildering beauty of the grand lady.
Karl, in his artist's velvet jacket, hurried forward to greet them.
"Welcome to my workshop," he cried.
"How do you do?" Olga said, barely giving him her hand, and turning at once to let her eyes rove curiously around the walls of the room.
"How do you do, Karl?" Herman said. "You see, we are prompt. And now I am curious to see your place."
Karl watched Olga as she surveyed the room. He felt piqued at her seeming lack of interest in him.
"So this is your wonderful studio," she said absently.
"It is much like a junkshop," Karl said deprecatingly.
"It is very interesting," Olga said. "Whose picture is that?" she asked, pointing to a painting of a half nude figure on the wall.