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:

"Why are you wearing that cloak in the house?"

"Madam Hofmann may be cold," Millar suggested quietly.

"Yes, yes; I am cold," Olga said hurriedly, drawing the cloak around her
more closely.

"You are fortunate to have such a beautiful cloak," Millar said,
determined now to keep them at the main point of his game.

"Suppose we do not talk about the cloak," Olga said. "You and Elsa
seemed to get on nicely to-night, Karl."

"Yes," he replied absently.

"Really, it was charming to watch such devoted young people," Millar
said.

Karl flashed a look of hatred at him and turned again to Olga.

"That cloak is lined with fur, isn't it?"

Before she could reply Millar had interrupted in his silken, insinuating
voice:

"Yes, soft, smooth fur."

"I did not speak to you," Karl cried at him savagely. "Well?" he
demanded of Olga.

"Soft, smooth fur," Olga replied. "It is cold in here."

"Nonsense; it is hot. I feel stifling," Karl declared.

"I feel chilly," Olga insisted.

"Perhaps madam is not dressed warmly enough," Millar insinuated. "You
should wear plenty of clothes in the winter time, or you may run the
chance of taking cold."

Olga caught her breath and then she answered:

"I love to take chances."

"You do, eh?" Karl cried.

"Yes; what is it to you?" she asked tauntingly.

Karl threw his self-control to the winds. With flaming face and a voice
that shook with anger, he cried:

"Aren't you two afraid of me?"

Olga was afraid and she looked at him apprehensively. Millar smiled his
cynical, sinister smile and answered:

"Afraid? I'm not afraid of the husband. Why should I be afraid of a
moralizing, joyless bridegroom?"

Karl took a step toward him,