place in it — but something unsatisfactory in his looks and in his words. She cautiously questioned him about the literary matinee at which he had been present; muttered, sighed, looked at him from in front, from the side, from behind; and suddenly clapping her hands on her thighs, she exclaimed: 'To be sure, Yasha; I see what it is!'
'Why? what?' Aratov queried.
'You've met for certain at that matinée one of those long-tailed creatures' — this was how Platonida Ivanovna always spoke of all fashionably-dressed ladies of the period — 'with a pretty dolly face; and she goes prinking this way . . . and pluming that way' — Platonida presented these fancied manœuvres in mimicry — 'and making saucers like this with her eyes' — and she drew big, round circles in the air with her forefinger — 'You 're not used to that sort of thing. So you fancied . . . but that means nothing, Yasha . . . no-o-thing at all! Drink a cup of posset at night . . . it 'll pass off! . . . Lord, succour us!'
Platosha ceased speaking, and left the room. . . . She had hardly ever uttered such a long and animated speech in her life. . . . While Aratov thought, 'Auntie 's right, I dare say. . . . I'm not used to it; that 's all . . . ' — it actually was the first time his attention had
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