her, as if his sensors bore into her very soul—as always, she found Levin’s tall, strange-looking companion droid powerfully unsettling.
“Oh, no,” said Kitty, and sat down at the table.
“But this was just what I wanted, to find you alone,” he began, not sitting down, and not looking at her, so as not to lose courage.
“Mamma will be down directly. She was very much tired. . . . Yesterday . . .”
She talked on, not knowing what her lips were uttering, and not taking her supplicating and caressing eyes off him. She wished she had brought the Galena Box down from her bedroom, and could feel its machine-lent courage already draining away.
He glanced at her, and then more pointedly at Socrates, who dutifully sent himself into Surcease.
“I told you I did not know whether I should be here long,” Levin began, “that it depended on you. . . .”
She dropped her head lower and lower, not knowing herself what answer she should make to what was coming.
“That it depended on you,” he repeated. “I meant to say . . . I meant to say . . . I came for this . . . to be my wife!” he brought out, not knowing what he was saying. Levin felt that the most terrible thing was said; he stopped short and looked at her.
Kitty was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was feeling ecstasy. Her soul was flooded with happiness. She had never anticipated that the utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her.But it lasted only an instant. She remembered Vronsky. She lifted her clear, truthful eyes, and seeing his desperate face, she answered hastily:
“That cannot be . . . forgive me.”
A moment ago, and how close she had been to him, of what importance in his life! And how aloof and remote from him she had become now!
“It was bound to be so,” he said, not looking at her. He flicked Socrates back on, and man and machine bowed together, preparing to retreat.
CHAPTER 12
B UT AT THAT VERY MOMENT the princess came in. There was a look of horror on her face when she saw them alone, and their disturbed faces. Levin bowed to her, and said nothing. Kitty did not speak nor lift her eyes.
Thank God, she has refused him,
thought the mother, and her face lighted up with the habitual smile with which she greeted her guests on Thursdays. She sat down and began questioning Levin about his life operating the groznium mine. He sat down again, waiting for other visitors to arrive, so he might retreat unnoticed.
Five minutes later there came in a friend of Kitty’s, married the preceding winter, Countess Nordston.
She was a thin, sallow, sickly, and nervous woman, with brilliant black eyes, and a short, green, cheap-looking Class III called Courtesana. Countess Nordston was fond of Kitty, and her affection for her showed itself, as the affection of married women for girls always does, in the desire to make a match for Kitty after her own ideal of married happiness; she wanted her to marry Vronsky. Levin she had often met at the Shcherbatskys’ early in the winter, and she had always disliked him.
“Well, Kitty,” she began. “Were you badly hurt in the attack upon the skate-maze?”
And she began talking to Kitty. Awkward as it was for Levin to withdraw now, it would still have been easier for him to perpetrate this awkwardness than to remain all the evening and see Kitty, who glanced at him now and then and avoided his eyes.
But as he was preparing to leave, he saw the officer who came in behind the countess.
“That must be Vronsky,” murmured Levin to Socrates, who nodded glumly. To be sure of it, Levin glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronsky, and looked round at Levin. And simply from the look in her eyes, which grew unconsciously brighter, Levin knew that she loved that man, knew it as surely as if she had told him so in words. But what sort of a man was he? Now, whether for good or for ill, Levin could not choose but remain; he must find out what the man was like whom she
“Oh, no,” said Kitty, and sat down at the table.
“But this was just what I wanted, to find you alone,” he began, not sitting down, and not looking at her, so as not to lose courage.
“Mamma will be down directly. She was very much tired. . . . Yesterday . . .”
She talked on, not knowing what her lips were uttering, and not taking her supplicating and caressing eyes off him. She wished she had brought the Galena Box down from her bedroom, and could feel its machine-lent courage already draining away.
He glanced at her, and then more pointedly at Socrates, who dutifully sent himself into Surcease.
“I told you I did not know whether I should be here long,” Levin began, “that it depended on you. . . .”
She dropped her head lower and lower, not knowing herself what answer she should make to what was coming.
“That it depended on you,” he repeated. “I meant to say . . . I meant to say . . . I came for this . . . to be my wife!” he brought out, not knowing what he was saying. Levin felt that the most terrible thing was said; he stopped short and looked at her.
Kitty was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was feeling ecstasy. Her soul was flooded with happiness. She had never anticipated that the utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her.But it lasted only an instant. She remembered Vronsky. She lifted her clear, truthful eyes, and seeing his desperate face, she answered hastily:
“That cannot be . . . forgive me.”
A moment ago, and how close she had been to him, of what importance in his life! And how aloof and remote from him she had become now!
“It was bound to be so,” he said, not looking at her. He flicked Socrates back on, and man and machine bowed together, preparing to retreat.
CHAPTER 12
B UT AT THAT VERY MOMENT the princess came in. There was a look of horror on her face when she saw them alone, and their disturbed faces. Levin bowed to her, and said nothing. Kitty did not speak nor lift her eyes.
Thank God, she has refused him,
thought the mother, and her face lighted up with the habitual smile with which she greeted her guests on Thursdays. She sat down and began questioning Levin about his life operating the groznium mine. He sat down again, waiting for other visitors to arrive, so he might retreat unnoticed.
Five minutes later there came in a friend of Kitty’s, married the preceding winter, Countess Nordston.
She was a thin, sallow, sickly, and nervous woman, with brilliant black eyes, and a short, green, cheap-looking Class III called Courtesana. Countess Nordston was fond of Kitty, and her affection for her showed itself, as the affection of married women for girls always does, in the desire to make a match for Kitty after her own ideal of married happiness; she wanted her to marry Vronsky. Levin she had often met at the Shcherbatskys’ early in the winter, and she had always disliked him.
“Well, Kitty,” she began. “Were you badly hurt in the attack upon the skate-maze?”
And she began talking to Kitty. Awkward as it was for Levin to withdraw now, it would still have been easier for him to perpetrate this awkwardness than to remain all the evening and see Kitty, who glanced at him now and then and avoided his eyes.
But as he was preparing to leave, he saw the officer who came in behind the countess.
“That must be Vronsky,” murmured Levin to Socrates, who nodded glumly. To be sure of it, Levin glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronsky, and looked round at Levin. And simply from the look in her eyes, which grew unconsciously brighter, Levin knew that she loved that man, knew it as surely as if she had told him so in words. But what sort of a man was he? Now, whether for good or for ill, Levin could not choose but remain; he must find out what the man was like whom she
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