“Why for a minute?” interposed the old lady. “Why are you always in such a hurry, you young people? You see I have a visitor; talk to him a little, and entertain him.”
Lisa sat down on the edge of a chair; she raised her eyes to Lavretsky—and felt that it was impossible not to let him know how her interview with Panshin had ended. But how was she to do it? She felt both awkward and ashamed. She had not long known him, this man who rarely went to church, and took his wife’s death so calmly—and here was she, confiding al her secrets to him.... It was true he took an interest in her; she herself trusted him and felt drawn to him; but all the same, she was ashamed, as though a stranger had been into her pure, maiden bower.
Marfa Timofyevna came to her assistance.
“Well, if you won’t entertain him,” said Marfa Timofyevna, “who will, poor fellow? I am too old for him, he is too clever for me, and for Nastasya Karpovna he’s too old, it’s only the quite young men she will look at.”
“How can I entertain Fedor Ivanitch?” said Lisa. “If he likes, had I not better play him something on the piano?” she added irresolutely.
“Capital; you’re my clever girl,” rejoined Marfa Timofyevna. “Step down-stairs, my dears; when you have finished, come back: I have been made old maid, I don’t like it, I want to have my revenge.”
Lisa got up. Lavretsky went after her. As she went down the staircase, Lisa stopped.
“They say truly,” she began, “that people’s hearts are full of contradictions. Your example ought to frighten me, to make me distrust marriage for love; but I—”
“You have refused him?” interrupted Lavretsky.
“No; but I have not consented either. I told him everything, everything I felt, and asked him to wait a little. Are you pleased with me?” she added with a swift smile—and with a light touch of her hand on the banister she ran down the stairs.