Count Roumovski still held on to the back of the chair, and his voice was still deep, as he said: 

“I believe they have gone to your Embassy in a band—­and much good may they get there.  You are of age, you see.  Besides, I have taken care that no one at the Grand Hotel knows where we have gone, and it will take them quite an hour or two to telephone about and find out—­and by that time my sister will have arrived, and we can defy them.”

“Yes,” said Stella, and then, nervously, “won’t you have some tea?”

He sat down, still constrainedly and clasped his hands, and womanlike, when she saw his agitation, her own lessened, and she assumed command, while she asked almost archly if he took cream and sugar.

He liked neither, he said, and with the air of a little hostess she handed him the cup.  Then she smiled softly and stood quite near him.

He drew himself together and his face looked almost stern as he took the tea, and over Stella there crept a chill—­and the gay little speech that had been bubbling to her lips died there, and a silence fell upon them for a few moments.  Then he put down his cup and crossed to the stiff sofa where she was, and sat down beside her.

“Sweetheart,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “it is a colossal temptation, you know, to me to make love to you.  But I am not going to permit myself that happiness yet.  I want to tell you all about what we shall do presently, and see if it pleases you.”  He did not even take her hand, and Stella felt rather aggrieved and wounded.  “I propose that as soon as the formalities can be got through, and the wedding can take place, that we go straight to Paris—­because you will want to get all kinds of clothes.  And it will be such a delight to me to give you everything you wish for.”

Stella smiled shyly.  It seemed suddenly to bring realities of things before her with keen force.  He would have the right to give her everything in the world—­this man whom she did not really know, but whom she felt she loved very much.  She clasped her hands and a thrill ran through her.  What, what did it all mean?  The idea of her marriage with Eustace Medlicott had always appeared as an ugly vision, an end to everything, a curtain which was yet drawn over a view which could only be all dusk and gray shadows, and which she would rather not contemplate.  But now the thought of going away and beginning a new existence with Sasha Roumovski was something so glorious and delicious that she quivered with joy at any reference to it.

Her little movement and the clasping of her hands affected him profoundly.  He, too, quivered, but with the stern effort to control himself.  It was part of his code of honor.  Not the slightest advantage must be taken of the situation while Stella was alone and unchaperoned, although the very fact of their propinquity and the knowledge of their solitude were extremely exciting to him, who knew the meaning of every emotion.  He drew a little away from her, and said in a voice that sounded cold: