His Hour

"He might at least have been presented; it is too impertinent

otherwise!" she thought.

She knew she was looking her best: a fair, distinguished woman as young

and fresh as a girl. Hardly a man in the room was unconscious of her

presence. Anger lent an extra brightness to her eyes and cheeks. She

went on dancing wildly.

The next time she was near the stranger was some half an hour later,

although not once was she able to banish the scarlet form from her

view. He did not dance. He talked now and then to his Prince, and then

he was presented to the official ladies, with the rest of the suite. He

looked bored.

Tamara would not ask his name, which she could have done with ease, as

every one was interested in the Russians and glad to talk about them.

She avoided the English group of bigwigs where they were standing, and

where she had her place--And when they passed the tall Cossack again

she turned upon him a witheringly unconscious glance.

However, this was not to continue the whole night, for presently she

was requested by one of the attachés to come and be presented to the

Grand Duke, and when she had made her curtsey the suite came up in

turn.

"Prince Milaslávski," and she heard one of his friends call him

"Gritzko." The name fell pleasantly on her ears--"Gritzko"! Why was he

such a wretch as to humiliate her so? She felt horribly small. She

ought never to have let him speak to her at the Sphinx. She was being

thoroughly punished for her unconventionality now!

She said a few words in French to each of the others, and then, as he

still stood there with that provoking smile in his splendid eyes, she

turned away almost biting her lip with shame and rage.

Before she knew it she was dancing with a fierce count in green and

silver. Their conversation was interesting.

"You are here since long, Madame?"

"No, Monsieur, only a few weeks, and I go to-morrow."

"Ah! you dance beautifully!"

"Do I? I am glad----"

The Russian Count held her very tightly, and they stopped quite out of

breath, where the screened windows half-hid the poor ladies of the

harem, who watched the throng from their safe retreat.

The Count bowed--and Tamara bowed. A section, not the whole dance, was

evidently the Russian custom.

Then a voice said close to her ear: "May I, too, have the honor of a turn, Madame?" and she looked up into

the eyes of the Prince.