CHAPTER XXI
The night of the bear-hunters' return there was to be a small dinner at the Ardácheff house. The Princess had arranged that there should be a party of six; so that while the four played bridge the fiancés might talk to one another. She was growing almost nervous, and indeed it had required all Stephen Strong's assurance that things eventually would come right to prevent her from being actually unhappy.
"Let 'em alone!" the old man said. "Take no notice! you won't regret it."
Tamara had only got up from her bed that afternoon and was very pale and feeble. She wore a white clinging dress and seemed a mere slip of a girl. The great string of beautiful pearls, Gritzko's latest gift, which had arrived that morning, was round her neck, and her sweet eyes glanced up sadly from the blue shadows which encircled them.
Gritzko was already there when the Princess and Tamara reached the first salon, and his eyes swam with passionate concern when he saw how Tamara had been suffering. He could not restrain the feeling in his voice as he exclaimed:
"You have been ill!—my sweet lady! Oh! Tantine, why did you not send for me? How could you let her suffer?"
And a sudden wave of happiness came over Tamara when he kissed her hand. She was so weak the least thing could have made her cry.
But her happiness was short-lived, for Gritzko—afraid yet of showing what was in his heart—seemed now colder than ever; though he was exulting within himself at the thought that the moment would come soon when all this pretence should end.
Tamara, knowing nothing of these things, felt a new sinking depression. In five days she would be his wife, and then when he had paid the honorable price—how would he treat her?—
He was looking wildly attractive tonight, his voice had a thousand tones in it when he addressed the others, he was merry and witty and gay—and almost made love to the Princess—only to his fiancée did he seem reserved.