Tamara poured it out and leaned back in the sofa below the beautiful
Falconet group, which made--and makes--the glory of the blue salon in
the Ardácheff House. She felt serene. These two weeks of unawakened
emotions and just pleasant entertainments since the day at Tsarsköi had
given her fresh poise.

"And what do you think of us by now, Madame?" he asked.

"I think you are a strange band," she said. "You are extremely
intellectual, you are brilliant, and yet in five minutes all
intelligence can fade out of your faces, and all interest from your
talks, and you fly to bridge."

"It is because we are primitive and unspoilt; this is our new toy, and
we must play with it; the excitement will wane, and a fresh one
come----" he paused and then went on in another tone--

"You in England have many outlets for your supervitality--you cannot
judge of other nations who have not. You had a magnificent system of
government. It took you about eight hundred years to build up, and it
was the admiration of the world--and now you are allowing your
Socialists and ignorant plebeian place hunters to pull it all to pieces
and throw it away. That is more foolish surely, than even to go crazy
over bridge!"

Tamara sighed.

"Have you ever been in England, Prince?" she asked.

He sat down on the sofa beside her.