Von Sarnoff, however, was not to be put off so easily. He kept continually showering her with messages of his affection, voicing his sentiments in ardent notes, accompanied by exquisite bouquets and rare gifts. He gave, with the moneyed aid of his aunt, the Princess, a series of elaborate entertainments in Sana’s honor. Persistent as he was in his effort to win her love, his determination availed nothing.
One evening, as he knelt at her feet, holding her hand, Sana unburdened herself of her true feelings.
“As much as I admire you, my dear boy,” she said earnestly, “I could not think of marriage. I want to be free, and after all, I do not care a great deal for this gay life.”
He broke in, pleadingly, “But, Sana, we can give up this sort of life and return to my estates in Russia to live a quiet life.”
“Live quietly in Russia!” Sana smiled, “you propose the impossible! Are not the Bolshevists after your very skin and did you not flee for your life? Were not your estates taken away? And now you propose to take me to that very place!”
“Do not treat the matter lightly, my beloved. Come with me, my queen. My parents will be only too delighted to receive you as their daughter.”
“But what would your aunt say of your intentions? I do not think she would approve of them.”
“Of course not. She would miss your charming companionship.”
“It is better, Sarnoff, that you forget me.”
“On account of my aunt?”