"I don't understand you," she said, moving away from him. "I am going along only for your sake," he whispered in a still quieter tone. "For my sake? . . ." she queried, glancing at him sharply, and stirred by a sudden aversion. "Yes . . . surely you must have guessed by now that I love you," said Kotlicki, drawing together his lips which were trembling and looking at her pleadingly. "There they say the same, only they play a little better!" she remarked scornfully, pointing to the stage. Kotlicki drew himself erect, a sullen shadow passed over his equine face, his eyes gleaming threateningly. "I will convince you! . . ." "Very well, but to-morrow at Bielany, not now," Janina coolly extended her hand in farewell and left for the dressing-room. Kotlicki gazed after her covetously, biting his lips. "A comedienne!" he finally whispered, leaving the theater. CHAPTER VII Janina awoke at about half-past ten in the morning. Sowinska had just brought in her breakfast. "Was anyone here to see me? . . ." she asked. Sowinska nodded her head and handed Janina a letter. "About an hour ago a ruddy fellow delivered it and asked me to give it to you." Janina nervously tore open the envelope and immediately recognized the handwriting of Grzesikiewicz: "My Dear Miss Orlowska, I have purposely come to Warsaw to see you on a very important matter. If you will kindly deign to be home at eleven o'clock I shall be there at that hour. Please pardon my boldness. Allow me to kiss your hands and remain Your humble servant, GRZESIKIEWICZ." "What's going to happen? . . ." thought Janina, dressing hastily. "What kind of important matter can it be that he writes of? Concerning my father? . . . Can it be that he is ill and longing for me? . . . Oh no! No!" She quickly drank her tea, tidied her room and patiently awaited Grzesikiewicz's visit. The thought of seeing, at last some one of her own people from Bukowiec even filled her with a certain joy. "Perhaps he will propose to me again?" Janina thought to herself. And she saw his big weather-beaten face, bronzed by the sun, and those blue eyes gazing so mildly from beneath his shock of flaxen hair. She remembered too, his embarrassed shyness. "A good, honest man!" she said to herself, walking up and down the room; but then the thought occurred to her that his visit was likely to spoil her intended trip to Bielany, and her enthusiasm began to cool. She determined she would speak to him briefly. "I wonder what he wants of me?" Janina asked herself uneasily, assuming the most impossible things. "My father must be very sick and wants me to come to him," she answered herself. She stood in the center of the room almost dazed, with fear that she must return to Bukowiec. "No, it is impossible! . . . I couldn't stand it there a single week . . . and moreover, he drove me away from home forever . . ."