was silence....  Then the day-light faded quite, and the Prince got up and lit a small oil lamp.  There was a deadly silence....  Ah!  She must fight against this horrible lethargy....  Her arm had grown numb....  Strange lights seemed to flash before her eyes—­yes—­surely—­that was Gritzko coming towards her!  She gave a gasping cry and tried to pull the trigger, but it was stiff....  The pistol dropped from her nerveless grasp....  She gave one moan....  With a bound Gritzko leaped up....”

* * * * *

“The light was grey when Tamara awoke.  Where was she?  What had happened?  Something ghastly, but where?  Then she perceived her torn blouse, and with a terrible pang remembrance came back to her.  She started up, and as she did so realized that she was in her stockinged feet.  The awful certainty....  Gritzko had won—­she was utterly disgraced....  She hurriedly drew off the blouse, then she saw her torn underthings....  She knew that however she might make even the blouse look to the casual eyes of her godmother, she could never deceive her maid."...  “She was an outcast.  She was no better than Mary Gibson, whom Aunt Clara had with harshness turned out of the house.  She—­a lady!—­a grand English lady!...  She crouched down in a corner like a cowed dog....”  Then he wrote to her formally demanding her hand.  And she replied:  “To Prince Milaslavski.  Monsieur,—­I have no choice; I consent.—­Yours truly, Tamara Loraine.”  Thus they were married.  Her mood changed.  “Oh!  What did anything else matter in the world since after all he loved her!  This beautiful fierce lover!  Visions of enchantment presented themselves....  She buried her face in his scarlet coat....”  I must add that Gritzko had not really violated Tamara.  He had only ripped open her corsage to facilitate respiration, and kissed her “little feet.”  She honestly thought herself the victim of a satyr; but, though she was a widow, with several years of marriage behind her, she had been quite mistaken on this point.  You see, she was English.

* * * * *

“His Hour” is a sexual novel.  It is magnificently sexual.  My quotations, of course, do less than justice to it, but I think I have made clear the simple and highly courageous plot.  Gritzko desired Tamara with the extreme of amorous passion, and in order to win her entirely he allowed her to believe that he had raped her.  She, being an English widow, moving in the most refined circles, naturally regarded the outrage as an imperious reason for accepting his hand.  That is a summary of Mrs. Glyn’s novel, of which, by the way, I must quote the dedication:  “With grateful homage and devotion I dedicate this book to Her Imperial Highness The Grand Duchess Vladimir of Russia.  In memory of the happy evenings spent in her gracious presence when reading to her these pages, which her sympathetic aid in facilitating my opportunities for studying the Russian character enabled me to write.  Her kind appreciation of the finished work is a source of the deepest gratification to me.”