ertheless, we should be interested
in one another. Our common experience...." He broke off with a little
shiver, and pulled his fur coat closer around him.

I knew that all that I wanted was to break away. We had passed quickly
on leaving the Market into some of the meanest streets of Petrograd.
This was the Petrograd of Dostoeffsky, the Petrograd of "Poor Folk" and
"Crime and Punishment" and "The Despised and Rejected."... Monstrous
groups of flats towered above us, and in the gathering dusk the figures
that slipped in and out of the doors were furtive shadows and ghosts. No
one seemed to speak; you could see no faces under the spare pale-flamed
lamps, only hear whispers and smell rotten stinks and feel the snow,
foul and soiled under one's feet....

"Look here, Semyonov," I said, slipping from the control of his hand,
"it's just as you say. We don't like one another, and we know one
another well enough to say so. Neither you nor I wish to revive the
past, and there's nothing in the present that we have in common."

"Nothing!" He laughed. "What about my delightful nieces and their home
circle? You were always one to shrink from the truth, Ivan Andreievitch.
You fancy that you can sink into the bosom of a charming family and
escape the disadvantages.... Not at all. There are always disadvantages
in a Russian family. _I_ am the disadvantage in this one." He laughed
again, and insisted on taking my arm once more. "If you feel so strongly
about me, Durward" (when he used my surname he always accented the
second syllable very strongly) "all you have to do is to cut my niece
Vera out of your visiting list. That, I imagine, is the last thing that
you wish. Well, then--"

"Vera Michailovna is my friend," I said hotly--it was foolish of me to
be so easily provoked, but I could not endure his sneering tone. "If you
imply--"

"Nonsense," he answered sharply, "I imply nothing. Do you suppose that I
have been more than a month here without discovering the facts? It's
your English friend Lawrence who is in love with Vera--and Vera with
him."

"That is a lie!" I cried.

He laughed. "You English," he said, "are not so unobservant as you seem,
but you hate facts. Vera and your friend Lawrence have been in love with
one another since their first meeting, and my dear nephew-in-law
Markovitch knows it."

"That's impossible," I cried. "He--"

"No," Semyonov replied, "I was wrong. He does not know it--he suspects.
And my nephew-