“Very well, but you'll soon get tired. You need not go away, I think, Mr. Velchaninoff.”
“I have nowhere to go to, my good sir, I am at home.”
“As you like; I confess I should prefer your being present while I have an explanation with this gentleman. Nadejda Fedosievna has given you a flattering enough character, sir, to me.”
“Nonsense; how could she have had time to do so?”
“Immediately after you left. Now, Mr. Trusotsky, this is what I wish to observe,” he continued to Pavel, the latter still standing in front of him; “we, that is Nadejda Fedosievna and myself, have long loved one another, and have plighted our troth. You have suddenly come between us as an obstruction; I have come to tell you that you had better clear out of the way at once. Are you prepared to adopt my suggestion?”
Pavel Pavlovitch took a step backward in amazement; his face paled visibly, but in a moment a spiteful smile curled his lip.
“Not in the slightest degree prepared, sir,” he said, laconically.
“Dear me,” said the young fellow, settling himself comfortably in his chair, and throwing one leg over the other.
“Indeed, I do not know whom I am speaking to,” added Pavel Pavlovitch, “so that it can't hardly be worth your while to continue.”
So saying he sat down at last.