"He can do nothing tonight," Tamara thought, "and tomorrow we are going back to Moscow, and then I am returning home." A spirit of devilment was in her. Nearly always it had been he who regulated things, and now it was her turn. She had been so very unhappy, and had only the outlook of dullness and regret. Tonight she would retaliate, she would do as she felt inclined.
So she leaned back in her chair and smiled, making a tantalizing moue at him, while she said, mockingly:
"Aren't you a barbarian, Prince! Only the days of Ivan the Terrible are over, thank goodness!"
He took a chair and sat down quietly, but the tone of his voice should have warned her as he said:
"You are counting upon the unknown."
She peeped at him now through half-closed alluring lids, and she noticed he was very pale.
In her quiet, well-ordered life she had never come in contact with real passion. She had not the faintest idea of the vast depths she was stirring. All she knew was she loved him very much, and the whole thing galled her pride horribly. It seemed a satisfaction, a salve to her wounded vanity, to be able to make him feel, to punish him a little for all her pain.
"Think! This time next week. I shall be safe in peaceful England, where we have not to combat the unknown."
"No?"
"No. Marraine and I have settled everything. I take the Wednesday's
Nord Express after we get back to Petersburg."