He raised his glass and drank.
“I won't drink such a toast as that!” said Velchaninoff; and put his glass down on the table.
“Why not? It's a very pretty toast.”
“Look here, were you drunk when you came here?”
“A little; why?”
“Oh—nothing particular. Only it appeared to me that yesterday, and especially this morning, you were sincerely sorry for the loss of Natalia Vasilievna.”
“And who says I am not sorry now?” cried Pavel Pavlovitch, as if somebody had pulled a string and made him snap the words out, like a doll.
“No, I don't mean that; but you must admit you may be in error about Bagantoff; and that's a serious matter!”
Pavel Pavlovitch grinned and gave a wink.
“Hey! Wouldn't you just like to know how I found out about Bagantoff, eh?”