"Gritzko! Oh, Gritzko!"

The food nearly choked Tamara when they reached their room, and supper
began. It was not, of course, a heinous crime for the Prince to be
entertaining ladies of another world. But on the top of everything else
it raised a wild revolt in her heart, and a raging disgust with
herself. Never, never should she unbend to him again. She _would
not_ love him.

Alas! for the impotency of human wills! Only the demonstrations of love
can be controlled, the emotion itself comes from heaven--or hell, and
is omnipotent. Poor Tamara might as well have determined to keep the
sun from rising as to keep herself from loving Gritzko.

She was quite aware that men--even the nicest men--like Jack and her
brother Tom, sometimes went out with people she would not care to know;
but to have the fact brought under her very observation disgusted her
fine senses. To realize that the man she loved was at the moment
perhaps kissing some ordinary woman, revolted and galled her
immeasurably. But if she had known it this night, at least, the Prince
was innocent. He had strolled into that room with some brother
officers, and was not the giver of the feast. And a few minutes after
Mr. Strong's party had begun their repast he opened the door.

"May I come in, Stephen?" he asked. "I heard you were all here, Serge
saw you. I have just arrived from Tsarsköi, and must eat."

And of course he was warmly welcomed and pressed to take a seat, while
Valonne chaffed him in an undertone about the joys he had precipitately