glishman," she said, looking across the table at Lawrence, "I
like his face. I should be frightened of him, though."

"Oh no, you wouldn't," I answered. "He wouldn't hurt any one."

She continued to look at him and he, glancing up, their eyes met. She
smiled and he smiled. Then he raised his glass and drank.

"I mustn't drink," she called across the table. "It's only water and
that's bad luck."

"Oh, you can challenge any amount of bad luck--I'm sure," he called
back to her.

I fancied that Grogoff did not like this. He was drinking a great deal.
He roughly called Nina's attention.

"Nina... Ah--Nina!"

But she, although I am certain that she heard him, paid no attention.

He called again more loudly:

"Nina... Nina!"

"Well?" She turned towards him, her eyes laughing at him.

"Drink my health."

"I can't. I have only water."

"Then you must drink wine."

"I won't. I detest it."

"But you must."

He came over to her and poured a little red wine into her water. She
turned and emptied the glass over his hand. For an instant his face was
dark with rage.

"I'll pay you for that," I heard him whisper.

She shrugged her shoulders. "He's tiresome, Boris...." she said, "I like
your Englishman better."

We were ever gayer and gayer. There were now of course no cakes nor
biscuits, but there was jam with our tea, and there were even some
chocolates. I noticed that Vera and Lawrence were getting on together
famously. They talked and laughed, and her eyes were full of pleasure.

Markovitch came up and stood behind them, watching them. His eyes
devoured his wife.

"Vera!" he said suddenly.

"Yes!" she cried. She had not known that he was behind her; she was
startled. She turned round and he came forward and kissed her hand. She
let him do this, as she let him do everything, with the indulgence that
one allows a child. He stood, afterwards, half in the shadow, watching
her.

And now the moment for the event of the evening had arrived. The doors
of Markovitch's little work-room were suddenly opened, and
there--instead of the shabby untidy dark little hole--there was a
splendid Christmas Tree blazing with a hundred candles. Coloured balls
and frosted silver and wooden figures of red and blue hung all about the
tree--it was most beautifully done. On a table close at hand were
presents. We all clapped our hands. We were childishly delighted. The
old great-aunt cried with pleasure. Boris Grogoff suddenly loo