"It did not look much like resistance last night," said Stephen Strong. "And if Gritzko is only playing the fool, and means nothing serious, then I think it is a shame."
"You don't suggest, surely, that I should interfere with fate?"
"Only to the extent of not giving him unlimited opportunities. You remember that season in London—and your brother Alexis—and her mother, and what came of that!"
The Princess put her hands up with a sudden gesture and covered her eyes.
"Oh! Stephen! how cruel of you to bring it back to me," she said; "but this is quite different—they are free—and it is my dearest wish that Tamara and Gritzko should be united." Then she continued in another tone. "I think you are quite wrong in any case. My plan is to throw them together as much as possible—he will see her real worth and delicate sweetness—and they will get over their quarrelling. It is her reserve and resistance which drives him mad. Sometimes I do not know how he will act."
"No, one can never count upon how he will act!" and Stephen Strong smiled. "But since you are satisfied I will say no more, only between you don't break my gentle little countrywoman's heart."
"You hurt me very much, Stephen!" the Princess said. "You—you—of all people, who know the tie there is between Tamara and me. You to suggest even that I would aid in breaking her heart."
"Dear Vera, forgive me," and he kissed her plump white hand. "I will suggest nothing, and will leave it all to you, but do not forget a man's passions, and Gritzko, as we know, is not made of snow!"
"You all misjudge him, my poor Gritzko," the Princess said, hardly mollified. "He has the noblest nature underneath, but some day you will know."
It was late in the afternoon when Tamara appeared, to find a room full of guests having tea. Her mind was made up, and she had regained her calm.