Meanwhile Jack Courtray had come in at once to see Tamara.
"Well, upon my word! fancy you marrying a foreigner, old girl!" he said; "but you have got just about the best chap I have ever met, and I believe you'll be jolly happy."
And Tamara bent down so that he should not see the tears which gathered in her eyes, while she answered softly, "Thank you very much, Jack; but no one is ever sure of being happy."
And even though Lord Courtray's perceptions were rather thick he wondered at her speech—it upset him.
"Look here, Tamara," he said, "don't you do it then if it is a chancy sort of thing. Don't go and tie yourself up if you aren't sure you love him."
Love him!—good God!—
Pent-up feeling overcame Tamara. She answered in a voice her old playmate had never dreamed she possessed—so concentrated and full of passion. In their English lives they were so accustomed to controlling every feeling into a level commonplace that if they had had time to think, both would have considered this outburst melodramatic.
"Jack," Tamara said, "you don't know what love is. I tell you I know now—I love Gritzko so that I would rather be unhappy with him than happy with any one else on earth. And if they ask you at home, say I would not care if he were a Greek, or a Turk, or an African nigger, I would follow him to perdition.—There!"—and she suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.
Yes, it was true. In spite of shame and disgrace, and fear, she loved him—passionately loved him.
Of course Jack, who was the kindest-hearted creature, at once put his arm around her and took out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes, while he said soothingly: