"With Karl," Millar answered quickly.
"Karl—and what did he say?" Olga cried, almost rising from her seat.
"I must not tell you now; it might hurt you."
"Oh, no, it won't; please tell me now," Olga pleaded, leaning over the table toward him.
Millar, too, leaned forward, his face almost touching her white shoulder, his hand touching hers as it rested on the table. It was thus Karl saw them with one of those furtive glances, and the glist froze the pretty speech he was trying to make to Elsa. The girl, seeing his look, jumped to her feet, exclaiming angrily, and so that all three heard her:
"Take me to the ballroom immediately. I have promised the next dance."
Karl also, his face white with passion, had jumped to his feet. Elsa, almost in tears, stamped her foot at him.
"Why do you stand there? Take me away. Aren't you coming?"
She turned and started to the door, Karl following. They passed Millar and Olga, still seated at the table.
"I thought you were in the ballroom," Olga said sweetly to the girl.