Olga waited impatiently for an opportunity to withdraw with Millar into a secluded place, where she might listen to him while he told her the things that she did not dare tell herself. The evening had grown late, however, and Karl had arrived before she could get away from her guests.
Karl had tried to avoid a tête-à-tête with Olga, and she took the first opportunity of introducing him to Elsa. She rebelled in her soul now at the thought of their marriage, but her will drove her to the fulfilment of her purpose, to that extent at least. But it was with a heart torn with jealousy that she watched Karl and Elsa move off together, and turned to meet Millar, standing beside her with his cynical, sinister smile.
Elsa Berg was a brilliant, vivacious girl, rarely beautiful, with lively blue eyes, chestnut hair and a tall, slender, willowy figure. The romance and excitement of her meeting with Karl made her seem doubly beautiful, and she gladdened the artist in him, but he helplessly confessed to himself that she made no impression on his heart. His thoughts were with Olga, and he was abstracted, almost to the point of rudeness, while Elsa tried to talk with him.
"Who is that terribly rude person who seems to be frightening every one?" she asked.
"He? Oh, that is Dr. Millar, a friend of mine," Karl replied.
"Pooh! I don't see why every one seems so afraid of him," Elsa said with a note of challenge in her tone. "I think I shall meet him just to see if he will make me run."
"No, no; don't go near him," Karl begged.
"And why not? Has he such a sharp tongue or an evil mind? I can take care of myself."
"I don't really think you ought to meet him," Karl said, but he spoke without conviction. He suddenly yielded to a curiosity to see what might come of a meeting between Elsa and Millar.
"I don't care; I'm going to hunt him up," she cried, jumping up and scampering off.