“No; I have never had any desire to do so. And you?”
“Sometimes. But I live in the city.”
“Art thou much in society?” inquired Plavitski.
“Almost never. My visits are to Pani Emilia, my partner Bigiel, and Vaskovski, my former professor, an oddity now,—those are all. Of course I go sometimes to people with whom I have business.”
“That is not well, my boy. A young man should have and preserve good social relations, especially when he has a right to them. If a man has to force his way, the question is different; but as Polanyetski, thou hast the right to go anywhere. I have the same story, too, with Marynia. The winter before last, when she had finished her eighteenth year, I took her to Warsaw. Thou’lt understand that the trip was not without cost, and that for me it required certain sacrifices. Well, and what came of it? She sat for whole days with Pani Emilia, and they read books. She is born a recluse, and will remain one. Thou and she might join hands.”
“Let us join hands!” cried Pan Stanislav, joyously.
“I cannot, with a clear conscience,” answered Marynia; “for it was not altogether as papa describes. I read books with Emilia, it is true; but I was much in society with papa, and I danced enough for a lifetime.”
“You have no fault to find?”
“No; but I am not yearning.”
“Then you did not bring away memories, it seems?”