"I am free to do as I choose," she said, and she looked down in crushed wretchedness. "Yes, I suppose they will come to the wedding."
"Lent is such an excellent excuse," he went on. "And all this society is accustomed to my doing as I please, so there will be no great wonder over the haste—only I am sorry if it inconveniences you—such hurried preparation."
"How long is it before Lent?" Tamara asked without interest.
"Just under a month—almost four weeks—shall the wedding take place in about a fortnight? Then we can go south to the sun to spend our honeymoon."
"Just as you will;" Tamara agreed in a deadly resigned voice. "I am always confused with the dates—the difference between the English and Russian—will you write down what it will be that I may send it to my father?"
He picked up a calendar which lay upon the table, and made the calculations, then he jotted it all down on a card and handed it to her.
She took it and never looking at him rose and made a step toward the door, and as she passed the table where he had put her wedding ring she surreptitiously secured it.
"I suppose you are staying for lunch?" she said in the same monotonous voice. "Can I go now?—do you want to say any more?"
"Tamara!" he exclaimed, with entreaty in his tone, and then with quick repression he bowed gravely and once more touched her hand with his lips—ere he held open the door for her.
"I will be here when you return—I will await your pleasure."