dreamed and for which I would pay that price. But I have no single
proof that he does really love me. He may be playing in the same way
with Tatiane Shébanoff--and the rest." And at this picture her pride
rose in wild revolt.

Never, never! should he play with her again at least!

Then she thought of all her stupid ways, perhaps if she had been
different, not so hampered by prejudice, but natural like all these
women here, perhaps she could have made him really love her.--Ah!--if
so.

This possibility, however, brought no comfort, only increased regret.

The first thing now to be done was to restrain herself in an iron
control. To meet him casually. To announce to her godmother that she
must go home, and as soon as the visit to Moscow should be over, she
would return to England. She must not be too sudden, he would think she
was afraid. She would be just stiff and polite and serene, and show him
he was a matter of indifference to her, and that she had no intention
to be trifled with again!

At last, aching in mind and body, she lay still. Meanwhile, below in
the blue salon, the Princess Ardácheff was conversing with Stephen
Strong.

"Yes, mon ami," she was saying. "You must come--we go in a week--the
day after my ball, to show Tamara Moscow, and from there to spend a
night at Milasláv. Olga and Sonia and her husband and the Englishman,
and Serge Grekoff and Valonne are coming, and it will be quite