"Come in."
Alone, in a grey dress, plain-featured, her cheek red where it had rested against the palm of her hand, she sat beside a little table in the bare, simple room, a book on her lap. With a pang, Agrenev noted her sunken eyes. But at sight of him they brightened instantly, and she rose from her seat, putting the book aside.
"You darling? Welcome! Is it raining?"
"Greeting! Nina. I have just come in for a moment."
"Take off your coat," she urged. "You will have some tea?" Her eyes and outstretched hands both said: "Thank you, thank you." "How are you doing?" she asked him anxiously.
"I am bored. I can do nothing. I am utterly bored."
She placed the tea-urn on the table in her tiny kitchen, laid some pots of jam by her copy-book, seated him in the solitary armchair, and bustled round, all smiles, her cheeks flushing—the spot where she had rested her hand all the long evening still showing red,—all- loving, all-surrendering, yet undesired.
"You musn't wait on me like this, Nina," Agrenev protested;"… Sit down and let us talk."
Their hands touched caressingly, and she sat down beside him.
"What is it, my dear?" She stroked his hand and its touch warmed her!
"What is it?"