“I’m going to a meeting.”
“Well, I’ll come with you. May I?”
“What for? Yes, come along,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, smiling. “What is the matter with you today?”
“With me? Happiness is the matter with me!” said Levin, letting down the window of the carriage they were driving in. “You don’t mind?—it’s so stifling. It’s happiness is the matter with me! Why is it you have never married?”
Sergey Ivanovitch smiled.
“I am very glad, she seems a nice gi....” Sergey Ivanovitch was beginning.
“Don’t say it! don’t say it!” shouted Levin, clutching at the collar of his fur coat with both hands, and muffling him up in it. “She’s a nice girl” were such simple, humble words, so out of harmony with his feeling.
Sergey Ivanovitch laughed outright a merry laugh, which was rare with him. “Well, anyway, I may say that I’m very glad of it.”
“That you may do tomorrow, tomorrow and nothing more! Nothing, nothing, silence,” said Levin, and muffling him once more in his fur coat, he added: “I do like you so! Well, is it possible for me to be present at the meeting?”
“Of course it is.”