ing towards her in a white gown
that struck her by its elegance, Anna smiled at her just as she
always did. Princess Tverskaya was walking with Tushkevitch and
a young lady, a relation, who, to the great joy of her parents in
the provinces, was spending the summer with the fashionable
princess.

There was probably something unusual about Anna, for Betsy
noticed it at once.

"I slept badly," answered Anna, looking intently at the footman
who came to meet them, and, as she supposed, brought Vronsky's
note.

"How glad I am you've come!" said Betsy. "I'm tired, and was
just longing to have some tea before they come. You might go"--
she turned to Tushkevitch--"with Masha, and try the croquet
ground over there where they've been cutting it. We shall have
time to talk a little over tea; we'll have a cozy chat, eh?" she
said in English to Anna, with a smile, pressing the hand with
which she held a parasol.

"Yes, especially as I can't stay very long with you. I'm forced
to go on to old Madame Vrede. I've been promising to go for a
century," said Anna, to whom lying, alien as it was to her
nature, had become not merely simple and natural in society, but
a positive source of satisfaction. Why she said this, which she
had not thought of a second before, she could not have explained.
She had said it simply from the reflection that as Vronsky would
not be here, she had better secure her own freedom, and try to
see him somehow. But why she had spoken of old Madame Vrede,
whom she had to go and see, as she had to see many other people,
she could not have explained; and yet, as it afterwards turned
out, had she contrived the most cunning devices to meet Vronsky,
she could have thought of nothing better.

"No. I'm not going to let you go for anything," answered Betsy,
looking intently into Anna's face. "Really, if I were not fond
of you, I should feel offended. One would think you were afraid
my society would compromise you. Tea in the little dining room,
please," she said, half closing her eyes, as she always did when
addressing the footman.

Taking the note from him, she read it.

"Alexey's playing us false," she said in French; "he writes that
he can't come," she added in a tone as simple and natural as
though it could never enter her head that Vronsky could mean
anything more to Anna than a game of croquet. Anna knew that
Betsy knew everything, but, hearing how she spoke of Vronsky
before her, she almost fe