sarcastic advice recurred to him . . . and he took advantage of the first instant of silence to get up, make a curt bow, and go out 'looking very foolish,' as he could not help whispering to himself.
His embarrassment did not escape Valentina Mihalovna . . . but to judge from the little smile with which she watched him go out, she interpreted this embarrassment in a manner flattering to herself.
In the billiard-room Nezhdanov came upon Marianna. She was standing with her back to the window, not far from the door of the boudoir, her arms folded tightly. Her face happened to be in almost black shadow; but her fearless eyes were looking so inquiringly, so fixedly at Nezhdanov, such scorn, such insulting pity were visible on her tightly closed lips, that he stood still in perplexity.. . .
`You have something to say to me?' he said involuntarily.
Marianna did not at once answer. 'No . . . or rather yes; I have. But not now.'
'When, then?'
'Wait a little. Perhaps—to-morrow; perhaps─never. You see, I know very little—of what you are really like.'
'Still,' began Nezhdanov, 'it has sometimes struck me . . . that we have———'
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