“What is the matter?” she said, setting the teapot on the samovar.
“Why, have you noticed anything?” he asked.
“You are not the same to-day as I have always seen you before.”
Lavretsky bent over the table.
“I wanted,” he began, “to tell you a piece of news, but now it is impossible. However, you can read what is marked with pencil in that article,” he added, handing her the paper he had brought with him. “Let me ask you to keep it a secret; I will come to-morrow morning.”
Lisa was greatly bewildered. Panshin appeared in the doorway. She put the newspaper in her pocket.
“Have you read Obermann, Lisaveta Mihalovna?” Panshin asked her pensively.
Lisa made him a reply in passing, and went out of the room and up-stairs. Lavretsky went back to the drawing-room and drew near the card-table. Marfa Timofyevna, flinging back the ribbons of her cap and flushing with annoyance, began to complain of her partner, Gedeonovsky, who in her words, could not play a bit.
“Card-playing, you see,” she said, “is not so easy as talking scandal.”
The latter continued to blink and wipe his face. Lisa came into the drawing-room and sat down in a corner; Lavretsky looked at her, she looked at him, and both felt the position insufferable. He read perplexity and a kind of secret reproachfulness in her face. He could not talk to her as he would have liked to do; to remain in the same room with her, a guest among other guests, was too painful; he decided to go away. As he took leave of her, he managed to repeat that he would come to-morrow, and added that he trusted in her friendship.