"Well, not exactly that," and the Princess sighed deeply; "but I dare say these over gay companions of his do not leave him much time for the arrangement such things require. Ah! if you knew, Tamara," she went on, "how fond I am of that boy, and how I feel the great and noble parts of his character are running to waste, you would understand my grief."
"You are so kind, dear Marraine," Tamara said. "But surely he must be very weak."
"No, he is not weak; it is a dare-devil wild strain in him that seems as if it must out. He has a will of iron, and never breaks his word; only to get him to be serious, or give his word, is as yet an unaccomplished task. I sometimes think if a great love could come into his life it would save him—his whole soul could wake to that."
Tamara looked down and clasped her hands.
"But it does not seem likely to happen, does it, Marraine?"
The Princess sighed again.
"I would like him to love you, dear child," she said; and then as Tamara did not answer she went on softly almost to herself: "My brother Alexis was just such another as Gritzko. That season he spent with me in London, when your mother and I were young, he played all sorts of wild pranks. We three were always together. He was killed in a duel after, you know. It was all very sad."
Tamara stroked her godmother's hand.
"Dear, dear Marraine," she said.
Then they checked sentiment and went to dress for dinner, arm in arm.
They had grown real friends in these three short weeks.