Olga's dream journey had been through the flowering orchard of girlhood, hand in hand with Karl, and she awoke with a sense of regret that the realities of everyday life should take the place of such joyous visions. She felt strangely elated during the day, and eagerly waited for the hour when Herman was to call for her and take her to Karl's studio.

"I wonder what it will be like there?" she asked herself a dozen times. "I think I have always been jealous of that studio and its possibilities, and I have always wanted to go there—but I did not dare."

Then she chided herself for the thought she had not uttered.

"Why, I am a goose! What am I confessing here to myself? That I am in love with Karl? What silly nonsense. Come, Olga, you are getting romantic."Herman came after luncheon and they drove together to the studio building. Old Heinrich admitted them, his eyes growing big and round at the imposing splendor of Herman's greatcoat and the bewildering beauty of the grand lady.

Karl, in his artist's velvet jacket, hurried forward to greet them.

"Welcome to my workshop," he cried.

"How do you do?" Olga said, barely giving him her hand, and turning at once to let her eyes rove curiously around the walls of the room.

"How do you do, Karl?" Herman said. "You see, we are prompt. And now I am curious to see your place."

Karl watched Olga as she surveyed the room. He felt piqued at her seeming lack of interest in him.

"So this is your wonderful studio," she said absently.

"It is much like a junkshop," Karl said deprecatingly.

"It is very interesting," Olga said. "Whose picture is that?" she asked, pointing to a painting of a half nude figure on the wall.

"That? Oh, that is a model who has posed for me."

"Oh, yes, I recognize it. We met the girl on the stairs, Herman."

"Oh, yes; that is she."

Herman busied himself looking at the pictures, chuckling over those that caught his unpoetic fancy, and nudging Karl in the ribs at some of them.

"I must come again and inspect them more at my leisure," he said. "This afternoon I have to go away."

"I am sorry you are not to remain," Karl said politely.

"Oh, I suppose we might put off the sitting in view of the fact that the picture might have been painted any time these last six years," Herman said. "But Olga has been nervous about the ball we are going to have to-night, and I thought it best to bring her to-day to distract her. You know this is really a house-warming to-night."

"And we were obliged to invite so many people," Olga said, still looking at the pictures.

"I hate these social affairs," Herman rattled on, "but I suppose in our position they are inevitable. What time shall I return for Olga?"

"It grows dark quickly," Karl said, looking at his watch. "In another hour we shall not be able to see. Suppose you return about 4 o'clock."

"Very well; and now I must be going. You are coming to the ball to-night, Karl? You know you really are the guest of honor; isn't he, Olga?"

"Yes, indeed. Karl is to fall in love with his future wife to-night."

Karl looked at her, but she spoke with perfect self-possession, and lightly.

"I shall do my best," he said, and he tried to speak with enthusiasm.

"Ah, you are not half grateful enough for this treasure, Karl; you should be happy," Olga said.

"Of course he should, and he will," Herman interposed, moving toward the door. "We will all be happy—you and Elsa and Karl and I—everybody, I hope."

Olga went nearer to Karl and spoke seriously.

"She is a very charming girl, Karl."

"If you say one word more about that girl I shall fall in love with her immediately, which would be ahead of my matrimonial scheme," Karl replied jestingly. "You know I am not obliged to fall in love until to-night."

"Well, well, I must be off," Herman said, as he went up to kiss Olga. "Good-by, dear; I shall call for you at 4 o'clock."

Almost against his will, Karl asked a question which he had never before in all his life thought of.

"Aren't you afraid to leave your wife alone?"

"Alone?"

"With me, I mean?"

Herman looked at him, and then spoke jestingly, but with an effort. "I am hurrying away because I am afraid I shall change my mind and take Olga with me," he said."You are not jealous?" Olga asked.

"If you don't want the truth—no, I am not," Herman replied, and in his tone there was the peculiar meaning which his words did not convey. "If I were not afraid of becoming ridiculous, I should say warningly, 'Children, be sure to be good.'"

He paused and looked at both of them. Then he said:

"Good-by."

As he turned, Karl followed and escorted him through the door. Olga stood frowning, worried, ill at ease. Karl looked at her in surprise when he returned.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

Olga started nervously and looked at him. She pressed her hands before her eyes and for a moment did not speak. She looked away as Karl approached her and said tenderly:

"Are you afraid? Please tell me."

"I don't know what is the matter with me, but just now, when my husband went away, I felt as if I had been left without a protector."She broke off abruptly, and Karl urged her to explain.

"What do you mean? I don't understand," he said.

"Yes, you do, Karl," Olga said, as she turned and faced him. "You know. I have fought against coming here for six years; ever since my marriage."

She looked away from him, around the studio, with its bizarre decorations, and shuddered.

"Ugh! this place looks like a devil's kitchen," she cried. "These strange things, terrible monsters, cold, white statues, heads without bodies, and you in their midst like a conjurer. I did not notice them while Herman was here, but now——"

Karl turned swiftly toward her.

"But now?" he asked.

Olga looked at him with an expression of terror in her eyes. The two stood thus at bay.

Left to themselves in the big studio, facing each other, Karl and Olga were silent. There was a look in Karl's eyes that Olga had never seen before; there was a tumult in her heart that she had never before felt. It was Karl who first recovered himself and broke the silence, trying to speak lightly:

"Don't be nervous," he said, reassuringly. "This is the reception-room of my studio. Every woman I paint comes here."

"And do you paint every woman who comes here?" Olga asked slowly.

"No," Karl replied shortly.

There was another awkward pause. Olga could not tell why she had asked that question any more than Karl could have told why he had asked Herman if he was not afraid to leave them alone. It was some unsuspected jealousy that prompted it.

"Did you understand my husband?" Olga asked.

"Yes, I think I did."

"He said, 'I trust you.' Why should he say that? Why should it not be a matter of course?"

"You don't think he is really jealous?"

Olga shook her head.

"I don't know," she said. "During the six years we have been together and you have been our friend, he has often pretended to be jealous. This time there was something in his voice that made me believe it was more than pretense. It is the first time he has ever left us alone."

They were standing, Karl near the door, where he had bidden Herman farewell, and Olga across the apartment. In an alcove in one corner an open fire burned brightly, casting a red glow over the big, comfortable arm-chair drawn up before it, with its high, pulpit-shaped back toward them. Karl walked over to Olga and said with quiet earnestness:

"We have tried to avoid it, Olga; tried for six years. Now that the situation is forced upon us, why not be honest? Let us talk about it frankly."

"I think it was sweet not to discuss it for six long years," Olga said, smiling at him. "A clean conscience is like a warm cloak, Karl; it enfolds us and makes us feel so comfortable."

She tried to make her mood seem light, but Karl would not fall in with it.

"Last night, when it was suggested that I should paint your portrait, you gave me a look I had never seen before," he persisted. "I wonder why?"

"I don't know," Olga answered, her fear returning. "Don't let us talk about it; I don't want to."

"You must not be afraid of me, Olga; if I were not I you might be frightened. I am fond of you, yes; but respectfully. I do not see what harm can be done by talking everything over quietly. It seems so long ago—seven years—since they told me that Herman was to be your husband. It was on the anniversary of the day——"

"Oh, Karl!" she protested, holding out her hands to silence him.

"The day we kissed each other," he went on, speaking so quietly that it seemed almost a whisper. "We were almost children then. I was a poor little chap, who gave drawing lessons to Herman and his sisters. You were a little waif, fed cake and tea at the millionaire's table. There we met, a beggar boy and a beggar girl, thrown together in a palace. We looked at each other, and I think we understood."Olga covered her burning face with her hands, and Karl went on:

"We kissed each other, quite innocently; just one kiss, the memory of which has almost faded."

"Yes, Karl, faded," Olga cried eagerly. "We have grown up sensibly and we never mentioned it."

Karl seemed not to hear her interruption. He went on:

"You became Herman's wife and went to live in a palace. I found you there when I came back from Paris, still fond of you, but determined never to tell you so, and when I met you again I, too, was somewhat changed. Still, when our eyes met, Olga, it was with the same look of the two poor, longing little beggars of the years ago. But we did not kiss again."

"Why not?" Olga breathed.

"Your husband and I are the best of friends," Karl said. "Though we have met hundreds of times, you and I, we have not mentioned it."

Olga turned to him gratefully and held out her hand to clasp his."You are a good, true friend, Karl."

"Are you satisfied now?" Karl asked her, smiling. "You are not afraid of me, are you?"

"No; but there was something in my husband's voice that frightened me," Olga answered. "He knows what we were to each other, and when he was leaving us here alone I think it made him feel uncomfortable. We aren't in love any more, are we, Karl?"

"No, of course not."

"And it is sweet to think that we have not entirely forgotten old times, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered absently.

"And, of course, if we loved each other still you would not marry, would you, Karl?"

"Of course not," he said shortly.

"Now you will get married and you will be very, very happy. And I, too, shall be happy, because I want you to marry, and I myself have chosen a sweet, clever girl for you."

"Exactly," Karl acquiesced dryly.

"And now let us think no more of it," Olga cried, her mood changing to one of gayety.

She ran over to the door, turned and faced Karl, knocking loudly on the panel.

"Now for work; we have done nothing," she said. "Monsieur, I have come to have my portrait painted."

"Come in, madame," Karl said, bowing gravely and entering into her play. "Good-morning."

"I have come to have my portrait painted," Olga said again.

Karl forgot the playing and exclaimed seriously:

"Ah, last night I made a memory sketch of you after I got home. I have made many, very many, but now I see you differently."

"Why?" Olga asked, startled again by his vehemence.

"Yesterday I saw the lines of your figure; to-day I see your soul," he said. "Yesterday you were a model; to-day you are an inspiration."

"Please, Karl; please, don't; we agreed to end everything," she pleaded."It is hard to end everything so suddenly."

"Karl, my good friend, I did wrong in coming here," Olga said. "Now that I did come, let us work. Take your colors and brush. We must get through with it as soon as possible."

"You are right, Olga; as soon as possible."

"What shall I do first?" she asked.

"Take off your hat and coat, please."

Karl stepped toward her with outstretched hands as if to help her. She drew back, with a little gesture of apprehension.

"You mustn't touch me," she said.

As she brushed past him Karl caught a whiff of fragrance from her hair that was intoxicating.

"Do you use perfume on your hair?" he asked, quite innocently.

"Certainly not," she laughed.

"Oh, then, it is the natural perfume of your hair. Pardon me; I stood too close to you."

Olga removed her hat and cloak. She looked up and saw that Karl was regarding her intently.

"You seem to be studying my features," she said.

"I know them by heart, each one," he answered. "I am thinking of a pose. You know your husband wished a half length in evening gown."

"Yes; I should have preferred a full length in street costume."

"I agree with Herman. You must be quick; it is getting dark."

"What shall I do?"

"Your waist; you must take it off; you will find some shawls there from which to select one for your shoulders. I will go into the studio."

"Oh, Karl."

"Don't mind; I shall close the door. Oh, it is snowing terribly," he added as he moved toward the big studio.

"Snowing! Oh, Karl, can't we postpone this? I don't feel well to-day; to-morrow I could come and bring my maid."

"Certainly not; your husband would surely want to know why we did no work to-day. Now I will leave you."