"I tried to change the subject, but Karl would not let me," Millar answered.
"I have not spoken a word," Karl protested.
"By your actions, Karl; by the way you jumped up, impatiently consulted your watch, rushed to the door. Poor chap, he was afraid," he added to Olga.
"Afraid!" Karl exclaimed.
"Yes, afraid that your husband would come before you finished dressing. And you were right, Karl."
"Why, my dear Olga——" Karl began impatiently, when the other interrupted him.
"Please, please, let us be logical," he urged. "Look at the situation. The husband enters suddenly. 'Well, here I am, back again, my darling,' he announces. 'Where is the picture? I must see the picture.' There is none. Karl did not work on the picture. Your husband is worried; he does not speak, but he is irritated. He wants to speak and the words stick in his throat. You look at each other, unhappy. Nothing has happened, but the mischief is done. What mischief? Appearances. Whatever you say makes matters worse, and a compromising situation like this is never forgotten by the husband. You go home together in silence."
"Ah, if it were like that," Karl broke in; "but we are not alone. You are here."
Millar shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah, that is it; I am here, and with one word I could dispel the illusion," he acquiesced. "But I know myself; I am cursed with a peculiar, sinister sense of humor, and I am afraid I would not say the word. Hence, when the husband enters we are all silent. Then I say, 'I regret to have arrived at such an inopportune moment.' I take my hat and walk out, leaving you, madam, your husband and Karl."