When Tatiana Markovna had heard from Marfinka that Vera was ill, and would remain in her room all day, she had come herself to inquire; she glanced at Vera and sat down on the divan.
“The service has tired me so that I could hardly walk up the steps. What’s the matter with you, Vera?” she continued, looking keenly at her.
“I congratulate Marfinka on her birthday,” said Vera, in the voice of a little girl who has learnt her speech by heart. She kissed her grandmother’s hand and wondered how she had managed to bring the words over her lips. “I got wet feet yesterday, and have a headache.” She tried to smile, but there was no smile on her lips.
“You must rub your feet with spirit,” remarked Tatiana Markovna, who had noticed the strained voice and the unnatural smile, and guessed a lack of frankness. “Are you coming to be with us, Vera? Don’t force yourself to do so, and so make yourself worse,” she continued, seeing that Vera was incapable of answering.
Vera was all the more frightened by her aunt’s consideration for her. Her conscience stirred, and she felt that Tatiana Markovna must already know all, and that her confession would come too late. She was on the point of falling on her breast, and making her confession there and then, but her strength failed her.
“Excuse me, Grandmother, from dinner; perhaps I will come over in the afternoon.”
“As you like. I will send your dinner across.”
“Thank you, I am already quite hungry,” said Vera quickly, without knowing what she said.
Tatiana Markovna kissed her, and stroked her hair, remarking casually that one of the maids should come and do her room, as she might have a visitor.
Tatiana Markovna returned sadly to the house. She was, indeed, politely attentive to her guests as she always was, but Raisky noticed immediately that something was wrong with her after her visit to Vera. She found it hard to restrain her emotion, hardly touched the food, did not even look round when Petrushka smashed a pile of plates, and more than once broke off in the middle of a sentence. In the afternoon as the guests took coffee on the broad terrace in the mild September sunshine, Tatiana Markovna moved among her guests as if she were hardly aware of them. Raisky wore a gloomy air and had eyes for no one but his aunt. “Something is wrong with Vera,” she whispered to him. “She is in trouble. Have you seen her?”