"I wonder if you have any heart at all, Madame?" he said. "If under the mummy's wrappings there is some flesh and blood?"
Then she turned and answered him with passion. "Of course there is," she said.
He bent over still nearer. "Just for to-night, shall we not quarrel or spar?" he whispered. "See, I will treat you as a sister and friend. I want to be petted and spoilt—I am sad."
Tamara, of course, melted at once! His extraordinarily attractive voice was very deep and had a note in it which touched her heart.
"Please don't be sad," she said softly. "Perhaps you think I was unkind to-day, but indeed it was only because—Oh! because it seemed to me such waste that you—you should be like that."
"It hurt like the fiend, you know," he said, "the thought of the damned circus. I think we are particularly sensitive as a race to those sort of things. If you had been a man I would have killed you."
"I hated to hear what you told me," and Tamara looked down. "It seemed so dreadful—so barbaric—and so childish for a man who really has a brain. If you were just an animal person like some of the others are, it would not have mattered; but you—please I would like you never to do any of these mad things again—"
Then she stopped suddenly and grew tenderly pink. She realized the inference he must read in her words.
He did not speak for a moment, only devoured her with his great blue-gray eyes. Of what he was thinking she did not know. It made her uncomfortable and a little ashamed. Why had she melted, it was never any use. So she drew herself up stiffly and leaned back in her seat.
Then down at the side by the folds of her dress he caught her hand while he said quite low: