tively stuck to his refusal, however much Sipyagin insisted.
'Don't say "No" straight off, dear Vassily Fedotitch. Say at least that you'll think it over till to-morrow!'
'But that would make no difference. I can't accept your offer.'
'Till to-morrow! Vassily Fedotitch! what harm will it do to defer your decision?'
Solomin admitted that it would certainly do him no harm . . . he left the study, however, and again went in search of his hat. But Nezhdanov, who had not till that instant succeeded in exchanging a single word with him, drew near and hurriedly whispered: 'For mercy's sake, don't go away, or it will be impossible for us to have a talk.'
Solomin left his hat alone, the more readily as Sipyagin observing his irresolute movements up and down the drawing-room, cried, 'You'll stay the night with us, of course?'
'I am at your disposal,' answered Solomin.
The grateful glance flung at him by Marianna—she was standing at the drawing-room window—set him musing.
59
