picion. Had not Yulia Sergeyevna been to his sister Nina's,
and then brought him here to tell him that she would accept him?
Oh, how awful it was! But the most awful thing of all was that his
soul was capable of such a suspicion. And he imagined how the father
and the daughter had spent the evening, and perhaps the night before,
in prolonged consultation, perhaps dispute, and at last had come
to the conclusion that Yulia had acted thoughtlessly in refusing a
rich man. The words that parents use in such cases kept ringing in
his ears:

"It is true you don't love him, but think what good you could do!"

The doctor was going out to see patients. Laptev would have gone
with him, but Yulia Sergeyevna said:

"I beg you to stay."

She was distressed and dispirited, and told herself now that to
refuse an honourable, good man who loved her, simply because he was
not attractive, especially when marrying him would make it possible
for her to change her mode of life, her cheerless, monotonous, idle
life in which youth was passing with no prospect of anything better
in the future--to refuse him under such circumstances was madness,
caprice and folly, and that God might even punish her for it.

The father went out. When the sound of his steps had died away, she
suddenly stood up before Laptev and said resolutely, turning horribly
white as she did so:

"I thought for a long time yesterday, Alexey Fyodorovitch. . . . I
accept your offer."

He bent down and kissed her hand. She kissed him awkwardly on the
head with cold lips.

He felt that in this love scene the chief thing--her love--was
lacking, and that there was a great deal that was not wanted; and
he longed to cry out, to run away, to go back to Moscow at once.
But she was close to him, and she seemed to him so lovely, and he
was suddenly overcome by passion. He reflected that it was too late
for deliberation now; he embraced her passionately, and muttered
some words, calling her _thou_; he kissed her on the neck, and then
on the cheek, on the head. . . .

She walked away to the window, dismayed by these demonstrations,
and both of them were already regretting what they had said and
both were asking themselves in confusion:

"Why has this happened?"

"If only you knew how miserable I am!" she said, wringing her hands.

"What is it?" he said, going up to her, wringing his hands too. "My
dear, for God's sake, tell me--what is it? Only tell the truth,
I entreat you--