ft; Lavretsky sat on the
inclined trunk of a willow; Lisa wore a white gown, tied round the waist
with a broad ribbon, also white; her straw hat was hanging on one hand,
and in the other with some effort she held up the crooked rod. Lavretsky
gazed at her pure, somewhat severe profile, at her hair drawn back
behind her ears, at her soft cheeks, which glowed like a little child's,
and thought, "Oh, how sweet you are, bending over my pond!" Lisa did not
turn to him, but looked at the water, half frowning, to keep the sun
out of her eyes, half smiling. The shade of the lime-tree near fell upon
both.

"Do you know," began Lavretsky, "I have been thinking over our last
conversation a great deal, and have come to the conclusion that you are
exceedingly good."

"That was not at all my intention in-----" Lisa was beginning to reply,
and she was overcome with embarrassment.

"You are good," repeated Lavretsky. "I am a rough fellow, but I feel
that every one must love you. There's Lemm for instance; he is simply in
love with you."

Lisa's brows did not exactly frown, they contracted slightly; it always
happened with her when she heard something disagreeable to her.

"I was very sorry for him to-day," Lavretsky added, "with his
unsuccessful song. To be young and to fail is bearable; but to be old
and not be successful is hard to bear. And how mortifying it is to feel
that one's forces are deserting one! It is hard for an old man to
bear such blows!... Be careful, you have a bite.... They say," added
Lavretsky after a short pause, "that Vladimir Nikolaitch has written a
very pretty song."

"Yes," replied Lisa, "it is only a trifle, but not bad."

"And what do you think," inquired Lavretsky; "is he a good musician?"

"I think he has great talent for music; but so far he has not worked at
it, as he should."

"Ah! And is he a good sort of man?"

Lisa laughed and glanced quickly at Fedor Ivanitch.

"What a queer question!" she exclaimed, drawing up her line and throwing
it in again further off.

"Why is it queer? I ask you about him, as one who has only lately come
here, as a relation."

"A relation?"

"Yes. I am, it seems, a sort of uncle of yours?"

"Vladimir Nikolaitch has a good heart," said Lisa, "and he is clever;
maman likes him very much."

"And do you like him?"

"He is nice; why should I not like him?"

"Ah!" Lavretsky uttered and ceased speaking. A half-mournful,
half-ironical expression passed over