"Those who can thrive politically upon the misfortunes of my country are my country's enemies—and mine," she said coldly.
"I have done your country no harm—nor you. Listen, Marishka," he pleaded tensely. "Look at me. I love you, dear, with all my heart and soul, I love you. You cannot forget what happened to us yesterday. I will not give you up——"
"You must—I pray that you will leave me, Herr Renwick," and she moved past him toward a door.
Renwick straightened. Whatever hopes he had had in his heart that Marishka might forgive him for acting without her consent, her action left no doubt as to her present intentions. The bitterness the girl's fatalism had predicted yesterday had fallen upon them quickly. But he would not despair. As the girl was yet to learn, Renwick was not one who despaired easily. But his years of service had given him discretion.
"I cannot believe that you are quite in earnest," he said quietly. "I will call upon you again when you have had time to weigh my action impartially——"
"I shall not be at home to you."
"Nevertheless," he said coolly, "I shall come."
Her shoulders moved disdainfully. "It should be enough that I——"
"Marishka," he broke in again and came toward her, "at least give me a chance to speak to you again—tomorrow——"
The curtains beside her parted abruptly as she fled, leaving Renwick staring helplessly at the embroidered hangings.