What if she also should have-"No! Oh, no!" she unconsciously screamed aloud; and her godmother,
coming into the room, was really alarmed.

From this moment onward the horror of this thought took root in her
brain, and she knew no peace. But her will and her breeding came to her
rescue. She would not lie there like an invalid; she would get up and
dress and go down to tea. She would chaff with the others who would all
swarm to see her. No one should pity or speculate about her. And she
made Johnson garb her in her loveliest teagown, and then she went to
the blue salon.

And amidst the laughter and fun they had talking of their adventure, no
one but Stephen Strong remarked the feverish unrest in her eyes, or the
bright, hectic flush in her cheeks.

When night came and she was alone again, her thoughts made a hell; she
could not sleep; she paced her room. If Gritzko should not return on
Tuesday. If she should never see him again. What--what would happen--
if--she--too--like poor Mary Gibson-Next day--the Tuesday--at about eleven o'clock, a servant in the
Milaslávski livery arrived with a letter, a stiff-looking, large,
sealed letter. She had never seen Gritzko's writing before and she
looked at it critically as she tremblingly broke it open.

It was written from Milasláv the day they had left Moscow. It was short
and to the point, and her eyes dilated as she read.