The Forester went back into the ante-room, made himself as respectable as he could, shook himself, pushed his fingers through his hair, and demanded a brush.
Meanwhile Tatiana Markovna bade Vera welcome and reproached her for venturing on such a journey; she must change her clothes throughout and in a few moments the samovar would be brought in, and supper served.
“Quick, quick, Grandmother!” said Vera, rubbing herself affectionately against her. “Let us have tea, soup, roast and wine. Ivan Ivanovich is hungry.” She knew how to quiet her aunt’s anxiety.
“That’s splendid. It shall be served in a minute. Where is Ivan Ivanovich?”
“I am making myself a bit decent,” cried a voice from the ante-room.
Egor, Yakob and Stepan hummed round the Forester as if he had been a good horse. Then he entered the hall and respectfully kissed the hands of Tatiana Markovna, and of Marfinka, who had only just decided to get out of bed, where she had hidden herself for fear of the storm.
“It is not necessary, Marfinka,” said her aunt, “to hide from the storm. You should pray to God, and will not then be struck.”
“I am not afraid of thunder and lightning, of which the peasants are usually the victims, but it makes me nervous,” replied Marfinka.
Raisky, with the water still dripping off him, stood in the window watching the guest. Ivan Ivanovich Tushin was a tall, broad-shouldered man of thirty-eight, with strongly-marked features, a dark, thick beard, and large grey rather timid eyes, and hands disproportionately large, with broad nails. He wore a grey coat and a high-buttoned vest, with a broad turned-down home-spun collar. He was a fine man, but with marked simplicity, not to put a fine point on it in his glance and his manners. Raisky wondered jealously whether he was Vera’s hero. Why not? Women like these tall men with open faces and highly developed muscular strength. But Vera—
“And you, Borushka,” cried Tatiana Markovna suddenly, clapping her hands. “Look at your clothes. Egorka and the rest of you! Where are you? There is a pool on the floor round you, Borushka. You will be ill. Vera was driving home, but there was no reason for you to go out into the storm. Go and change your clothes, Borushka, and have some rum in your tea. Ivan Ivanovich, you ought to go with him. Are you acquainted? My nephew Boris Raisky—Ivan Ivanovich Tushin.”