Kseniya Ippolytovna wore a dark evening dress and had plaited her hair; she shook hands with Polunin.
"I am feeling sad to-day, Polunin," she said in a melancholy voice.
They sat down in the armchairs.
"I expected you at five. It is now six. But you are always churlish and inconsiderate towards women. You haven't once wanted to be alone with me—or guessed that I desired it!" She spoke calmly, rather coldly, gazing obstinately into the fire, her cheeks cupped between her narrow palms. "You are so very silent, a perfect diplomat…. What is it like in the fields to-day? Cold? Warm? Tea will be served in a moment."
There was a pause.
At last Polunin broke the silence.
"Yes, it was bitterly cold, but fine." After a further pause he added: "When we last talked together you did not say all that was in your mind. Say it now."
Kseniya Ippolytovna laughed:
"I have already said everything! Isn't it cold? I have not been out to-day. I have been thinking about Paris and of that … that June…. Tea should be ready by this time!"
She rose and rung the bell, and the old butler came in.
"Will tea be long?"