“Will it not be hard for you to see him.”
“No, I shan’t faint,” he smiled.
“Go at five o’clock to the arbour and tell him....” She considered a moment, then scribbled with a pencil what she had said she wished to say without adding a word. “Here is my answer,” she said, handing him the open envelope. “You may add anything you think necessary, for you know all. And don’t forget, Ivan Ivanovich, that I blame him for nothing, and consequently,” she added, looking away, “you may leave your whip behind.”
“Very well,” he said between his teeth.
“Forgive me,” said Vera, offering her hand. “I do not say it as a reproach. I breathe more freely now that I have told you what I wish, and what I don’t wish in your interview.”
“And you thought I needed the hint?”
“Pardon a sick woman,” she said, and he pressed her hand again.