He raised his head; Marianna was looking at him with anxious, tender eyes.
'My dear! What is it?' she asked.
He took her hand from his shoulder, and for the first time kissed that strong little hand. Marianna gave a slight smile as though wondering how such a polite attention could occur to him. Then she in her turn grew thoughtful.
'Did Markelov show you Valentina Mihalovna's letter?' she asked at last.
'Yes.'
'Well . . . how was he?'
'He? He's the noblest, most unselfish fellow! He . . .' Nezhdanov was on the point of telling Marianna about the portrait—but he checked himself, and only repeated, 'the noblest fellow.'
'Oh, yes, yes!'
Marianna again fell to musing, and suddenly turning round towards Nezhdanov on the trunk which served them both for a seat, she said with vivid interest:
'Well, then, what did you decide?'
Nezhdanov shrugged his shoulders.
'Why, I've told you . . . nothing . . . as yet; we shall have to wait a little longer.'
'Wait longer?. . . What for?'
'Final instructions.' ('Of course that's a fib,' Nezhdanov thought.)
24
