re, almost to the point of
tears. And it was so strange to see this sensible, manly face in
such a childish plight, that Oblonsky left off looking at him.

"Oh, where shall we meet? You know I want very much to talk to
you," said Levin.

Oblonsky seemed to ponder.

"I'll tell you what: let's go to Gurin's to lunch, and there we
can talk. I am free till three."

"No," answered Levin, after an instant's thought, "I have got to
go on somewhere else."

"All right, then, let's dine together."

"Dine together? But I have nothing very particular, only a few
words to say, and a question I want to ask you, and we can have a
talk afterwards."

"Well, say the few words, then, at once, and we'll gossip after
dinner."

"Well, it's this," said Levin; "but it's of no importance,
though."

His face all at once took an expression of anger from the effort
he was making to surmount his shyness.

"What are the Shtcherbatskys doing? Everything as it used to
be?" he said.

Stepan Arkadyevitch, who had long known that Levin was in love
with his sister-in-law, Kitty, gave a hardly perceptible smile,
and his eyes sparkled merrily.

"You said a few words, but I can't answer in a few words,
because.... Excuse me a minute..."

A secretary came in, with respectful familiarity and the modest
consciousness, characteristic of every secretary, of superiority
to his chief in the knowledge of their business; he went up to
Oblonsky with some papers, and began, under pretense of asking a
question, to explain some objection. Stepan Arkadyevitch,
without hearing him out, laid his hand genially on the
secretary's sleeve.

"No, you do as I told you," he said, softening his words with a
smile, and with a brief explanation of his view of the matter he
turned away from the papers, and said: "So do it that way, if you
please, Zahar Nikititch."

The secretary retired in confusion. During the consultation with
the secretary Levin had completely recovered from his
embarrassment. He was standing with his elbows on the back of a
chair, and on his face was a look of ironical attention.

"I don't understand it, I don't understand it," he said.

"What don't you understand?" said Oblonsky, smiling as brightly
as ever, and picking up a cigarette. He expected some queer
outburst from Levin.

"I don't understand what you are doing," said Levin, shrugging
his shoulders. "How can you do it seriously?"

"Why not?"

"Why, because there's no