“Because ... for no particular reason....”
Again Nadézhda Alexyéevna laughed.
“No; I have not known her very long. But she is a remarkable girl, isn’t she?”
“She is very original,”—said Vladímir Sergyéitch, through his teeth.
“And in your mouth—in the mouth of positive persons—does that constitute praise? I do not think so. Perhaps I seem original to you, also? But,”—she added, rising from her seat and casting a glance through the window,—“the moon must have risen; that is its light on the poplars. It is time to depart.... I will go and give order that Little Beauty shall be saddled.”
“He is already saddled, ma’am,”—said Nadézhda Alexyéevna’s groom, stepping out from the shadow in the garden into a band of light which fell on the terrace.
“Ah! Well, that’s very good, indeed! Másha, where art thou? Come and bid me good-bye.”
Márya Pávlovna made her appearance from the adjoining room. The men rose from the card-table.
“So you are going already?”—inquired Ipátoff.
“I am; it is high time.”