hen Ivan came in and told her not to be silly."

"Weren't you frightened to come home?" asked Vera.

"Ivan wanted to come with me but I wouldn't let him. I felt quite brave
in the flat, as though I'd face anybody. And then every step I took
outside I got more and more frightened. It was so strange, so quiet with
the trams not running and the shops all shut. The streets are quite
deserted except that in the distance you see crowds, and sometimes there
were shots and people running.... Then suddenly I began to run. I felt
as though there were animals in the canals and things crawling about on
the ships. And then, just as I thought I was getting home, I saw a man,
dead on the snow.... I'm not going out alone again until it's over. I'm
so glad I'm back, Vera darling. We'll have a lovely evening."

They both discovered then how hungry they were, and they had an enormous
meal. It was very cosy with the curtains drawn and the wood crackling in
the stove and the samovar chuckling. There was a plateful of chocolates,
and Nina ate them all. She was quite happy now, and sang and danced
about as they cleared away most of the supper, leaving the samovar and
the bread and the jam and the sausage for Nicholas and Bohun when they
came in.

At last Vera sat down in the old red arm-chair that had the holes and
the places where it suddenly went flat, and Nina piled up some cushions
and sat at her feet. For a time they were happy, saying very little,
Vera softly stroking Nina's hair. Then, as Vera afterwards described it
to me, "Some fright or sudden dread of loneliness came into the room. It
was exactly as though the door had opened and some one had joined us...
and, do you know, I looked up and expected to see Uncle Alexei."

However, of course, there was no one there; but Nina moved away a
little, and then Vera, wanting to comfort her, tried to draw her closer,
and then of course, Nina (because she was like that) with a little
peevish shrug of the shoulders drew even farther away. There was, after
that, silence between them, an awkward ugly silence, piling up and up
with discomfort until the whole room seemed to be eloquent with it.

Both their minds were, of course, occupied in the same direction, and
suddenly Nina, who moved always on impulse and had no restraint, burst
out:

"I must know how Andrey Stepanovitch (their name for Lawrence, because
Jeremy had no Russian equivalent) is--I'm going to telephone."

"You can't," Vera