"Lieutenant Petrovitch, if you please," I interposed.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Petrovitch, I'm sure," he answered lightly. "But there's really no need for this kind of reception. I want to be friends with you."
I bowed as he paused.
"You and I have not quite understood each other in the past."
"Not until within the last few days," I returned, significantly.
"I'm not referring to that," he said, flushing. "Though as you've started it I'll pay you the compliment of saying you're devilish neat and clever in your workmanship. I had no idea of it, either, nor anyone less...."
"What do you want with me?" I interrupted, with a wave of the hand to stop his compliment.
"I want to talk quietly over with you my suit for your sister's hand. I want to know where we stand, you and I."
"My sister's hand is not mine to give." This very curtly.
"I don't ask you to give it, man; I only want to win it. I am as good a match for her as any man in Moscow..." and with that he launched out into a long account of his wealth, position, and prospects, and of the position his wife would occupy. I let him talk as long as he would, quite understanding that this was only the preface to something else—the real purpose of his visit. Gradually he drew nearer and nearer to the point, and I saw him eyeing me furtively to note the effect of his words, which he weighed very carefully. He spoke of his family influence; how he could advance my interests; what an advantage it was to have command of wealth when making an army career: and much more, until he shewed me that what he really intended was to presume on my old evil reputation and bribe me with money down if necessary, and with promises of future help, if I would agree to let Olga marry him.