He stooped and picked up the silken waist which had fallen from Olga's hands. As he held it out to her she drew back in horror.
Olga shrank from this strange being, sensible of his serpent-like fascination, even while he repelled her. It flashed across her consciousness that he was something more than human, something worse—the embodiment of malevolent purpose—a man devoid of good—the Devil himself.
He came from behind the chair, and as he moved toward her his every action heightened the impression she had received. In a situation where any man might have been confused he was perfectly self-possessed. His attitude was neither offensive nor ingratiating. He became at once a part of her surroundings, of her thoughts, yes, of her soul. It was this influence that she felt herself combating with growing weakness.
"I hope you will forgive me," his smooth, suave voice went on, breaking the stillness almost melodiously, and he bowed again. "I permitted myself to fall asleep."
Still Olga could not find tongue, and she drew yet farther away. The man, or the devil, watched her as she groped for the shawl, found it and quickly wound its filmy length around her beautiful shoulders and arms. An expression of cynical amusement crossed his face.
"Excuse me, but I awoke just as you were about to unbutton your blouse," he said. "Propriety should have made me close my eyes, but——"
"Oh!" Olga cried, shocked into speech.
"Oh, I know, madam," he said, with a bow, "you think I am suspicious, and you only came here——"
"To have my portrait painted," Olga said quickly.
"Precisely," he acquiesced, with the same cynical expression. "Only yesterday I met a lady at the dentist's, and I observed that she permitted him to extract a perfectly good and very pretty tooth."