‘Anna Vassilyevna ill-uses you... poor fellow!’ said Shubin, stretching. ‘Ah, Nikolai Artemyevitch, we’re a pair of sinners! You had much better be getting a little present ready for Anna Vassilyevna. It’s her birthday in a day or two, and you know how she appreciates the least attention on your part.’
‘Yes, yes,’ answered Nikolai Artemyevitch hastily. ‘I’m much obliged to you for reminding me. Of course, of course; to be sure. I have a little thing, a dressing-case, I bought it the other day at Rosenstrauch’s; but I don’t know really if it will do.’
‘I suppose you bought it for her, the lady at Revel?’
‘Why, certainly.—I had some idea.’
‘Well, in that case, it will be sure to do.’ Shubin got up from his seat.
‘Are we going out this evening, Pavel Yakovlitch, eh?’ Nikolai Artemyevitch asked with an amicable leer.
‘Why yes, you are going to your club.’
‘After the club... after the club.’
Shubin stretched himself again.
‘No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, I want to work to-morrow. Another time.’ And he walked off.