He may have spoken, but certainly no one heard him in the confusion.

I just caught Nina’s shrill voice:  “Listen all of you!  There you are!  You hear what he says!  That I told him it was to be Tuesday when, everybody knows—­Verotchka!  Ah—­Verotchka!  He says—­” Then she paused; I caught her amazed glance at the door, her gasp, a scream of stifled laughter, and behold she was gone!

Then they all saw.  There was instant silence, a terrible pause, and then Bohun’s polite gentle voice:  “Is this where Mr. Markovitch lives?  I beg your pardon—­”

Great awkwardness followed.  It is quite an illusion to suppose that Russians are easy, affable hosts.  I know of no people in the world who are so unable to put you at your ease if there is something unfortunate in the air.  They have few easy social graces, and they are inclined to abandon at once a situation if it is made difficult for them.  If it needs an effort to make a guest happy they leave him alone and trust to a providence in whose powers, however, they entirely disbelieve.  Bohun was led to his room, his bags being carried by old Sacha, the Markovitch’s servant, and the Dvornik.

His bags, I remember, were very splendid, and I saw the eyes of Uncle Ivan grow large as he watched their progress.  Then with a sigh he drew a chair up to the table and began eating zakuska, putting salt-fish and radishes and sausage on to his place and eating them with a fork.

“Dyadya, Ivan!” Vera said reproachfully.  “Not yet—­we haven’t begun.  Ivan Andreievitch, what do you think?  Will he want hot water?”

She hurried after him.

The evening thus unfortunately begun was not happily continued.  There was a blight upon us all.  I did my best, but I was in considerable pain and very tired.  Moreover, I was not favourably impressed with my first sight of young Bohun.  He seemed to me foolish and conceited.  Uncle Ivan was afraid of him.  He made only one attack.

“It was a very fruitful journey that you had, sir, I hope?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Bohun.

“A very fruitful journey—­nothing burdensome nor extravagant?”

“Oh, all right, thanks,” Bohun answered, trying unsuccessfully to show that he was not surprised at my friend’s choice of words.  But Uncle Ivan saw that he had not been successful and his lip trembled.  Markovitch was silent and Boris Nicolaievitch sulked.  Only once towards the end of the meal Bohun interested me.

“I wonder,” he asked me, “whether you know a fellow called Lawrence?  He travelled from England with me.  A man who’s played a lot of football.”

“Not Jerry Lawrence, the international!” I said.  “Surely he can’t have come out here?” Of course it was the same.  I was interested and strangely pleased.  The thought of Lawrence’s square back and cheery smile was extremely agreeable just then.

“Oh!  I’m very glad,” I answered.  “I must get him to come and see me.  I knew him pretty well at one time.  Where’s he to be found?”