"Possibly. Why were you so--horrible that night?"

"Was I horrible?"

"Probably not, but you seemed so to me," Tamara quoted his late words.

"I seem horrible--and you seem sweet."

"Surely the stupid comes in too!"

"Undoubtedly, but Russia will cure that, you will not go away for a
long time."

"In less than four weeks."

"We shall see," and the Prince got up and lit another cigarette. "You
do not smoke either? What a little good prude!"

"I am not a prude!" Tamara's ire rose again. "I have tried often with
my brother Tom, and it always makes me sick. I would be a fool, not a
prude, to go on, would not I?"

"I am not forcing you to smoke. I like your pretty teeth best as they
are!"

Rebellion shook Tamara. It was his attitude toward her--one of supreme
unconcerned command--as though he had a perfect right to take his
pleasure out of her conversation, and play upon her emotions, according
to his mood. She could have boxed his ears.