Again, from affection, she told him an untruth: "Simply lovely." He kissed her tenderly, handed her a cigarette, took a cigar for himself, and then sat down on a chair by her side. "You do live in a splendid way, George. You can't imagine how happy I feel when I am with you." "Because you are in my rooms, or because you are with me?" "Because I am in your rooms, naturally," she said teasingly. "Why ever should I care about you? You are an old cynic who does not deserve that I should like him so much and be so nice to him. Oh, you dear old silly, come here, and let me give you a kiss. Well, now, that will do, be sensible and sit down nicely and tell me what you have been doing lately. What parties have you been to, and with whom have you danced? Whom did you go for your cure with?" George answered and asked questions. Olga showed a real and sincere interest in everything that concerned him; he knew that he could entirely trust her, and that later, when they parted, she would make no use of anything he had told her, and so he spoke quite frankly to her. He told her about the regiment, his parents, and his sister, but naturally enough he never spoke a word about Hildegarde. He had not once mentioned her name, and to-day likewise he was silent on the subject. Not indeed that he feared Olga would be jealous; she was too sensible and intelligent for that, and, moreover, she had often said she wished he would marry a lovely and beautiful wife. In spite of all that, however, an inexplicable feeling prevented his speaking about Hildegarde to her. Olga listened to him attentively; many of the names of the people in Society were familiar to her, she remembered them from his former accounts, and she showed by her questions now and again that she was following him with real interest. Naturally she was most interested in knowing what the ladies wore, but she did not get much information from him on this point. "How can you be so foolish as not to notice these things?" she scolded him. "A woman is most interested in what another woman has on." "Or rather what she has _not_ on," he said mockingly. The entrance of the servant put an end to their conversation. "A letter has just come for you, sir." "Any answer?" "The messenger did not say anything, he did not wait." "Very well." The servant disappeared and George held the note a moment in his right hand unopened. "Who is it from?" inquired Olga. "I do not know how it is, but a vague feeling tells me that this letter contains something unpleasant for me." "Shall I read it to you then? If I think the contents will vex you I will tear it up and never tell you what was in it." He kissed her hand. "You are a dear little thing, but I am afraid that won't do. Well, let us see what it is." He opened the envelope with a paper-knife, turned over the sheet and looked at the signature. A slight triumphant smile played round his mouth. "Ah, ha, Willberg, I said so!"