"Sonia, Sonichka, my dear little woman," he murmured, not letting her speak. "My darling, my pretty one."
In a paroxysm of tenderness with tears in his voice, he showered her with endearing words each tenderer than the other, and was already speaking to her as if she were his wife or his mistress. Suddenly and unexpectedly to her, he put one arm round her and with the other hand he seized her elbow.
"My dear one, my beauty," he began to whisper, kissing the nape of her neck; "be sincere, come to me now."
She slipped out of his embrace and lifted her head to break out in indignation and revolt. But indignation did not come, and of all her praiseworthy virtue and purity, there was left only enough for her to say that which all average women say in similar circumstances:
"You must be mad."
"But really let us go," continued Ilyin. "Just now and over there by the bench I felt convinced that you, Sonia, were as helpless as myself. You too will be all the worse for it. You love me, and you are making a useless bargain with your conscience."
Seeing that she was leaving him he seized her by her lace sleeve and ended quickly:
"If not to-day, then to-morrow; but you will have to give in. What's the good of putting if off? My dear, my darling Sonia, the verdict has been pronounced. Why post-
