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 his voice plainly betrayed that he did not wish to go.

She looked at him inquiringly, but was silent.  He felt ashamed.  “It is hardly proper for me to come here to put people out of temper,” he thought, and, in an effort to be pleasant, he said that he would go with pleasure if the Princess were in a mood to receive him.

“Yes, yes; mamma will be glad.  You can smoke there also.  And Ivan Ivanovich is with her.”

The mistress of the house, Sophia Vasilievna, was an invalid.  For eight years she had reclined in laces and ribbons, amid velvet, gilding, ivory, bronzes and flowers.  She never drove out, and received only her “friends,” i. e., whoever, according to her view, in any way distinguished himself from the crowd.  Nekhludoff was one of these friends, not only because he was considered a clever young man, but also because his mother was a close friend of the family and he was a desirable match for Missy.

Her room was beyond the small and large drawing-rooms.  In the large drawing-room Missy, who preceded Nekhludoff, suddenly stopped, and placing her hands on the back of a gilt chair, looked at him.