"Yes, yes; I feel like a schoolboy," Karl cried wildly; "like a young tiger. I'm mad with joy. I will get drunk to-night. I will drink, drink drink until the angels in heaven sing to me—as you said this afternoon," he added, turning to Millar.
"No, no, Karl," Olga pleaded, thoroughly frightened. "Why, you never drank. Why should you drink to-night?"
"Because I am doing things to-night I never did before," Karl replied bitterly. "I have never been engaged before; to-night I shall be engaged."
"Good! fine, Karl," Millar exclaimed. "She is a splendid girl."
"Splendid girl! What do I care what sort of a girl she is? It's not the girl; it's marriage—something new. I want to see what it is like."
"For a bridegroom you are not very gay," Millar said tauntingly.
"Gay! Why should I be gay? I am drinking the last bitter drops of my bachelor days—but I'll swallow them, and then—purity."
"Bravo, Karl!" Olga said.
"Oh, I don't care what any one else thinks about it," Karl sneered at her. "I am doing this to please myself."
Olga was hurt and surprised at his tone. She had never seen him so completely beside himself before; she had never heard him speak so bitterly, so vindictively. As she watched him he looked at her, and a spasm of pain contorted his face. He pointed his finger at her accusingly, and cried: