His Hour

Tamara made a step forward in protest, and then she stood petrified

while her eyes flashed with anger.

"Indeed, yes, I am ashamed I cried!" she said at last between her

teeth.

He made some restless paces, he was very much moved.

"I must know--" he began. But at that moment the servants came in with

the tea, and Tamara seized the opportunity while they were settling the

tray to get nearer the door, and then fled from the room, leaving

Gritzko extremely disturbed.

What could she mean? He knew in his calmer moments he had not the least

cause to be jealous of Jack. What was the inference in her words? Two

weeks seemed a long time to wait before he could have all clouds

dispersed, all things explained--as she lay in his arms. And this

thought--to hold her in his arms--drove him wild. He felt inclined to

rush after her, to ask her to forgive him for his anger, to kiss and

caress her, to tell her he loved her madly and was jealous of even the

air she breathed until he should hear her say she loved him.

He went as far as to write a note.

"Madame," he began--He determined to keep to the severest formality or

he knew he would never be able to play his part until the end.--"I

regret my passion just now. The situation seemed peculiar as I came in.

I understand there was nothing for me to have been angry about,--please

forgive me. Rest now. I will come and fetch you at quarter to eight.

"Gritzko."

And as he went away he had it sent to her room.

And when Tamara read it the first gleam of comfort she had known since

the night at the hut illumined her thoughts. If he should love her--

after all!--But no, this could not be so; his behavior was not the

behavior of love. But in spite of the abiding undercurrent of

humiliation and shame, the situation was intensely exciting. She

feverishly looked forward to the evening. Her tears seemed to have

unlocked her heart--she was no longer numb. She was perfectly aware

that no matter what he had done she wildly loved him. He had taken

everything from her, dragged her down from her pedestal, but that last

remnant of self-respect she would keep. He should not know of this

crowning humiliation--that she still loved him. So her manner was like

ice when he came into the room, and the chill of it communicated itself

to him. They hardly spoke on the way to the Théâtre Michel, and when

they entered the box she pretended great interest in the stage, while,

between the acts, all their friends came in to give their

congratulations.