But when they turned into the wide Serguiefskaia, which seemed deserted, he bent once more and this time with wildest passion he seemed to draw her very soul through her lips.
Then ere she could speak, they drew up at the door, and he lifted her out, and before the Suisse and the waiting footmen.
"Good-night, Madame—sleep well," he calmly said.
But Tamara, trembling with mad emotion, rushed quickly to her room.
CHAPTER XII
In life there comes sometimes a tidal wave in the ebb of which all old landmarks are washed out. And so it was with Tamara. She had fallen into bed half dead with fatigue and emotion, but when she woke the sickly gray light of a Russian winter mid-day pouring into her room, and saw her maid's stolid face, back rushed the events of the night, and she drew in her breath with almost a hiss. Yes, nothing could ever be the same again. "Leave me, Johnson," she said, "I am too tired, I cannot get up yet."
And the respectful maid crept from the room.
Then she lay back in her pillows and forced herself to face the position, and review what she had done, and what she must now do.
First of all, she loved Gritzko, that she could no longer argue with herself about. Secondly, she was an English lady, and could not let herself be kissed by a man whose habit it was to play with whom he chose, and then pass on. She was free, and he was free, it followed his caressing then—divine as it had been—was an absolute insult. If he wanted her so much he should have asked her to marry him. He had not done so, therefore the only thing which remained for her to do, was to go away. The sooner the better.
Then she thought of all the past.