She came over every day for a short time, exchanged greetings with her aunt and her sister, and returned to the other house, and no one knew how she passed her time there. Tatiana Markovna grumbled a little to herself, complained that her niece was moody, and shy, but did not insist.
For Raisky the whole place, the park, the estate with the two houses, the huts, the peasants, the whole life of the place had lost its gay colours. But for Vera he would long since have left it. It was in this melancholy mood that he lay smoking a cigar on the sofa in Tatiana Markovna’s room. His aunt who was never happy unless she was doing something, was looking through some accounts brought her by Savili; before her lay on pieces of paper samples of hay and rye. Marfinka was working at a piece of lace. Vera, as usual, was not there.
Vassilissa announced visitors; the young master; from Kolchino.
“Nikolai Andreevich Vikentev, please enter.”
Marfinka coloured, smoothed her hair, gave a tug to her fichu, and cast a glance in the mirror. Raisky shook his finger at her, making her colour more deeply.
“The person who stayed one night here,” said Vassilissa to Raisky, “is also asking for you.”
“Markushka?” asked Tatiana Markovna in a horrified tone.
“Yes,” said Vassilissa.
Raisky hurried out.
“How glad he is, how he rushes to meet him. Don’t forget to ask him for the money. Is he hungry? I will send food directly,” cried his aunt after him.