"So it was she?" Karl interrupted.
"Oh, yes, it was she," Millar admitted. "I suggested a wild plan, Karl; almost too daring for the first day of our acquaintance. Her honor, position, everything depend upon its success. Of course I did not dream she would carry it out. I suggested it merely to sound the depths of her passion. But she loved the idea and insisted upon doing it this very night. If it fails we are lost."
Karl trembled with apprehension for Olga, whom he believed in the devilish power of this man.
"What is it?" he asked.
"She will be here in one minute, dressed in an opera cloak—and nothing else. Think of it, Karl; the daring of it. She will walk through the ballroom on my arm, among all those people, her friends, her husband, with no one in the secret but we two—and you. Ah, Karl, I told you she would be mine," Millar concluded with rapturous accents.
With a wild cry Karl sprang at Millar, hurling one word at him:
"Liar!"
"Karl, be careful," Millar protested, avoiding him.
"It's a lie; a damnable, dirty lie!" Karl cried, trying blindly to reach him, to grasp his throat to throttle him.
Millar deftly avoided him and laughed triumphantly.