of water! They are all
good-natured and warm-hearted because they are all well-fed and
know nothing of struggle or suffering, . . . I want to be in those
big damp houses where people suffer, embittered by work and
need. . ."

And this, too, seemed to Ognev affected and not to be taken seriously.
When Vera had finished he still did not know what to say, but it
was impossible to be silent, and he muttered:

"Vera Gavrilovna, I am very grateful to you, though I feel I've
done nothing to deserve such . . . feeling . . . on your part.
Besides, as an honest man I ought to tell you that . . . happiness
depends on equality--that is, when both parties are . . . equally
in love. . . ."

But he was immediately ashamed of his mutterings and ceased. He
felt that his face at that moment looked stupid, guilty, blank,
that it was strained and affected. . . . Vera must have been able
to read the truth on his countenance, for she suddenly became grave,
turned pale, and bent her head.

"You must forgive me," Ognev muttered, not able to endure the
silence. "I respect you so much that . . . it pains me. . . ."

Vera turned sharply and walked rapidly homewards. Ognev followed
her.

"No, don't!" said Vera, with a wave of her hand. "Don't come; I can
go alone."

"Oh, yes . . . I must see you home anyway."

Whatever Ognev said, it all to the last word struck him as loathsome
and flat. The feeling of guilt grew greater at every step. He raged
inwardly, clenched his fists, and cursed his coldness and his
stupidity with women. Trying to stir his feelings, he looked at
Verotchka's beautiful figure, at her hair and the traces of her
little feet on the dusty road; he remembered her words and her
tears, but all that only touched his heart and did not quicken his
pulse.

"Ach! one can't force oneself to love," he assured himself, and at
the same time he thought, "But shall I ever fall in love without?
I am nearly thirty! I have never met anyone better than Vera and I
never shall. . . . Oh, this premature old age! Old age at thirty!"

Vera walked on in front more and more rapidly, without looking back
at him or raising her head. It seemed to him that sorrow had made
her thinner and narrower in the shoulders.

"I can imagine what's going on in her heart now!" he thought, looking
at her back. "She must be ready to die with shame and mortification!
My God, there's so much life, poetry, and meaning in it that it
would move a stone, and I .