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Glyn, Elinor, 1864-1943

"His Hour"

For
heaven's sake let it all blow over, and after Moscow and a reasonable
time, not to appear too hurried, you shall go home."
"But meanwhile, how can I know that he won't shoot at Jack? or do some
other awful thing! He does not love me really a bit, Marraine. It is
all out of pride and devilment because he wants to win and conquer me
and add me to his scalps, and I won't be conquered. I tell you I
won't!" and Tamara clenched her hands.
The Princess did not know what to say, she was not perfectly sure in
her own mind as to Gritzko's feelings, and she was too thoroughly
acquainted with his ways to hazard any theory as to his possible acts.
She felt it might not be fair to assure her godchild that he truly
loved her. She could only think of tiding over matters for the time
being.
"Tamara, dearest, could you at least try to keep the peace on our
trip?" she asked. "Be gentle with him, and do not excite him in any
way."
Tamara buried her face in her pillows, she was too English to be
dramatic and sob; but when she spoke her soft voice trembled a little
and her eyes glistened with tears.
"He is horribly cruel, Marraine," she said.
"Why should he treat me as he does. I won't--I won't bear it."
The Princess sighed.
"Tamara, forgive me for asking you, but I must, I feel I must. Do you--
love him, child?"
Then passion flamed up in Tamara's white face, her secret was her own,
and she would defend it even from this kind friend--so--"I believe I
hate him!" she said.


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