ard, why now I was
attracted by Semyonov, because, shadow of a man as I was, not man
enough to be jealous, I could see with her eyes, stand beside her and
share her emotion.... But God! how that day I despised myself!

"You're tired!" she said, looking at me. "Is your leg hurting you?"

"Not much," I answered.

"Sit down here beside me." She made way for me on the sofa. "Ivan
Andreievitch, you will always be my friend?"

"Always," I answered.

"I believe you will. I'm a little afraid of you, but I think that I
would rather have you as a friend than any one--except John. How
fortunate I am! Two Englishmen for my friends! You do not change as
R-russians do! You will be angry with me when you think that I am
wrong, but then I can believe you. I know that you will tell me the
truth."

"Perhaps," I said slowly, "Alexei Petrovitch will not wish that I
should be your friend!"

"Alexei?" she said, laughing. "Oh, thank you very much, I shall choose
my own friends. That will always be my affair."

I had an uneasy suspicion that perhaps she knew as little about
Semyonov as she had once known about Trenchard. It might be that all
her life she might never learn wisdom. I do not know that I wished her
to learn it.

"No," she continued. "But you forgive me now? Forgive me for all my
mistakes, for thinking that I loved John when I did not and treating
him so badly. Ah! but how unhappy I was! I wished to be honourable and
honest--I wished it passionately--and I seemed only to make mistakes.
And then because I was ashamed of myself I was angry with every
one--at least it seemed that it was with every one, but it was really
with myself."

"I did you injustice," I said. "And I did Alexei Petrovitch an
injustice also. I know now that he truly and deeply loves you.... I
believe that you will be very happy ... yes, it is better, much
better, than that you should have married Trenchard."

Her face flushed with happiness, that strange flush of colour behind
her pale cheeks, coming and going with the beats of her heart.

She continued happily, confidently: "When I was growing up I was
always restless. My mother allowed me to do as I pleased and I had no
one in authority over me. I was restless because I knew nothing and no
one could tell me anything that seemed to me true. I would have, like
other girls, sudden enthusiasms for some one who seemed strong and
wonderful--and then they were never wonderful--only like every one
else.