of the adulating
kindnesses with which they invisibly surrounded him. To-day,
however--it is wonderful to relate--everything in this house disgusted
him; the porter, the broad stairway, the flowers, the lackeys, the
table decorations, and even Missy herself, who, just now, seemed to
him unattractive and unnatural. He was disgusted with that
self-confident, vulgar, liberal tone of Kolosoff, the bull-like,
sensual, figure of old Korchagin, the French phrases of the Slavophile
maiden, the ceremonious faces of the governess and the tutor. But
above all, he was disgusted with the pronoun "him" that Missy had
used. Nekhludoff was always wavering between two different relations
he sustained toward Missy. Sometimes he looked at her as through
blinking eyes or by moonlight, and then she seemed to him beautiful,
fresh, pretty, clever and natural. At other times he looked at her as
if under a bright sun, and then he saw only her defects. To-day was
such a day. He saw the wrinkles on her face; saw the artificial
arrangement of her hair; the pointed elbows, and, above all, her large
thumb nail, resembling that of her father.

"It is the dullest game," Kolosoff said, speaking of tennis,
"baseball, as we played it when we were boys, is much more amusing."

"You have not tried it. It is awfully interesting," retorted Missy,
unnaturally accentuating the word "awfully," as it seemed to
Nekhludoff.

A discussion arose in which Michael Sergeievich and Katherine
Alexeievna took part. Only the governess, the tutor and the children
were silent, evidently from ennui.

"They are eternally disputing!" laughing aloud, said old Korchagin. He
pulled the napkin from his vest, and, noisily pushing back his chair,
which was immediately removed by a servant, rose from the table. They
all rose after him and went to a small table, on which stood figured
bowls filled with perfumed water; then they washed their finger-tips
and rinsed their mouths, and continued their conversation, in which no
one took any interest.

"Is it not true?" Missy said to Nekhludoff, desiring to receive
confirmation of her opinion that man's character can best be learned
in play. She noticed on his thoughtful face an expression of reproach,
which inspired her with fear, and she wished to know the cause of it.

"I really don't know. I never thought of it," answered Nekhludoff.

"Will you go to mamma?" asked Missy.

"Yes, yes," he said, producing a cigarette. The tone of h