They drank tea and ate cake. Then Madame Turkin read a story aloud, read of things that had never happened in this world, while Startseff sat looking at her handsome grey head, waiting for her to finish.
“It is not the people who can’t write novels who are stupid,” he thought. “But the people who write them and can’t conceal it.”
“Not baddish!” said Turkin.
Then Katherine played a long, loud piece on the piano, and when she had finished every one went into raptures and overwhelmed her with prolonged expressions of gratitude.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t marry her!” thought Startseff.
She looked at him, evidently expecting him to invite her to go into the garden, but he remained silent.
“Do let us have a talk!” she said going up to him. “How are you? What are you doing? Tell me about it all! I have been thinking about you for three days,” she added nervously. “I wanted to write you a letter, I wanted to go to see you myself at Dialij, and then changed my mind. I have no idea how you will treat me now. I was so excited waiting for you to-day. Do let us go into the garden!”
They went out and took their seats under the old maple-tree, where they had sat four years before. Night was falling.
“Well, and what have you been doing?” asked Katherine.
“Nothing much; just living somehow,” answered Startseff.