“You will find it is serious—till you are safe in Vladivostok,” retorted Peter. “Then—well, once you are safe, you may do as you wish. But I am master till then.”
She laughed again.
“So you are American after all—in Vladivostok I may do as I wish! How can you call yourself Russian? Go away, Wassili—it is but a joke!”
Wassili, not quite sure it was such a joke, put away his knife, and went back to the far room. Katerin shut the door, and then turned to Peter, who stood looking at her, resenting a trifle her taking it as a joke at all.
“We shall go aboard the car at once,” he said. “Get ready your baggage, please.”
“Ah, he is Russian again!” laughed Katerin.
“What does it matter if I am Russian or not?” said Peter. “When I try to consider your feelings, you insult——”
“No, no, Peter,” she begged, and went to him and put her hands gently on his sleeves, looking up into his face. “You did not understand—you know nothing of a woman’s heart—I told you once that I loved you——”
“Yes!” cried Peter. “You told me that, and then you insist upon staying here when I want to protect you—when you know there is a chance to go——”
“Growl—growl like a Russian bear, Peter! But did you not come to say good-by?”