"Please don't go very far away," Olga implored.
"I shall be here," Millar said, going to a small anteroom adjoining the studio. "If you need me, call."
He stepped within the other room and closed the door softly. Olga stood, her hands gripping the back of her chair, waiting.
Karl entered the reception-room and stood for an instant looking at Olga. He showed that he, too, had suffered during the night. His face was white and drawn. When he saw Olga standing there, a mute statue of despair, he was filled with pity for her and self-abasement. He stepped quickly to her side, caught her hands and kissed them passionately.
"I ought to go down on my knees and beg your pardon for my conduct last night, Olga," he said.
She turned to him quickly, yielding her hands to him, leaning toward him, speaking eagerly.
"Speak very low; he is in there," she said, pointing to the anteroom where Millar was hiding. "Let us be brief, Karl. I have been very foolish, but I could not control myself. After what happened I wanted to know. I wanted to feel that you loved me as I thought you did, as I hoped you did, day and night, every minute."
"Olga!" he exclaimed rapturously.
