She got up from the floor now and tossed her head. Important things had never been to her realities—her fear left her. What agitated her now was that Stépan, whom she adored, should speak to her in such a tone. She threw herself into his arms once more, passionately proclaiming her love.
He thrust her from him in shrinking disgust, and the cruel vein in his character was aroused.
"Love!—do not dare to desecrate the name of love. You do not know what it means. I do—and this shall always remain with you as a remembrance. I love Amaryllis Ardayre. She is my ideal of a woman—tender and restrained and true—I shall always lay my life at her feet. I love her with a love such beings as you cannot dream of, knowing only the senses and playing only to them. That will be your knowledge always, that I worship and reverence this woman, and hold you in supreme contempt."
Harietta writhed and whined on the sofa where she had fallen.
"Go," he went on icily. "I have no further use for you, and my car is waiting below. You may as well avail yourself of it and return to your hotel. In the morning the last proof of the interest I have taken in you may be given, but to-night you can sleep."
Harietta cried aloud—she was frightened at last. What did he mean? But even fear was swallowed up in the frantic thought that he had done with her, that he would never any more hold her in his arms. Her world lay in ruins, he seemed the one and only good. She grovelled on the floor and kissed his feet.
"Master, Master! Keep me near you—I will be your slave—"
But Verisschenzko pushed her gently aside with his foot and going to a table near took up a cigarette. He lighted it serenely, glancing indifferently at the dishevelled heap of a woman still crouching on the floor.
"Enough of this dramatic nonsense," and he blew a ring of smoke. "I advise you to go quietly to bed—you may not sleep so softly on future nights."
Fear overcame her again—what could he mean? She got up and held on to the table, searching his face with burning eyes.