"What is that?" Karl absently asked.
He had not heard; his mind was confused, bewildered. Millar, cynically misunderstanding his question, said quickly:
"Why, that is an opera cloak."
Olga turned quickly, fearful that the remark might cause an eruption which she could not control. She cried impulsively, seeking to divert the threatening train of conversation:
"The ball is a great success. Every one is merry; every one dances as if it were the first affair of the season. The girls are all as happy as young widows who have just taken off mourning."
"I have observed it," Millar agreed with enthusiasm. "It is splendid. But why is Karl so sad amid all this merry-making?" he added.
"Why are you sad, Karl?" Olga asked, turning to him.
"I sad? You are silly," Karl cried with forced gayety. "I never felt happier in all my life."
There was a touch of hysteria in his voice that made Olga's heart go out to him.
"I am glad you are having such a good time," she said.