"Your views seem against marriage; why?" Olga asked.
The tone of Millar became suddenly serious as he said:
"You want Karl to marry; I want to prevent him from marrying."
"Please let's not discuss that," Karl protested.
"Pardon me, Karl, but an artist should not marry," he went on. "Your future wife will swear to stand by your side for life—until the wedding day—and the day after she will be in your way."
"Not the true wife," Olga declared.
"Ah, but the true wife is always the other fellow's wife," he answered.
Millar had talked so absorbingly that Karl and Olga unconsciously drew near to each other. They stood in front of the high pulpit back of the arm-chair, each one resting a hand on the chair back. Although they were quite unaware of it, their position suggested that of a young couple, before the altar, about to be joined in wedlock. The cynical humor of the situation struck Millar, who walked around them, stood in the chair and leaned over the back, like a preacher in his pulpit.
"You are a pessimist," Olga declared, looking up at him.
"No, not a pessimist; only practical."