“Well, have you succeeded in undermining the basis of society?” asked Kolosoff, ironically quoting an expression used by a retrograde newspaper in attacking trial by jury.  “Acquitted the culprits and condemned the innocent, have you?”

“Undermining the basis—­undermining the basis,” repeated Prince Korchagin, laughing.  He had a firm faith in the wisdom and learning of his chosen friend and companion.

At the risk of seeming rude, Nekhludoff left Kolosoff’s question unanswered, and sitting down to his steaming soup, went on eating.

“Do let him eat,” said Missy, with a smile.  The pronoun him she used as a reminder of her intimacy with Nekhludoff.  Kolosoff went on in a loud voice and lively manner to give the contents of the article against trial by jury which had aroused his indignation.  Missy’s cousin, Michael Sergeivitch, endorsed all his statements, and related the contents of another article in the same paper.  Missy was, as usual, very distinguee, and well, unobtrusively well, dressed.

“You must be terribly tired,” she said, after waiting until Nekhludoff had swallowed what was in his mouth.

“Not particularly.  And you?  Have you been to look at the pictures?” he asked.

“No, we put that off.  We have been playing tennis at the Salamatoffs’.  It is quite true, Mr. Crooks plays remarkably well.”

Nekhludoff had come here in order to distract his thoughts, for he used to like being in this house, both because its refined luxury had a pleasant effect on him and because of the atmosphere of tender flattery that unobtrusively surrounded him.  But to-day everything in the house was repulsive to him—­everything:  beginning with the doorkeeper, the broad staircase, the flowers, the footman, the table decorations, up to Missy herself, who to-day seemed unattractive and affected.  Kolosoff’s self-assured, trivial tone of liberalism was unpleasant, as was also the sensual, self-satisfied, bull-like appearance of old Korchagin, and the French phrases of Katerina Alexeevna, the Slavophil.  The constrained looks of the governess and the student were unpleasant, too, but most unpleasant of all was the pronoun him that Missy had used.  Nekhludoff had long been wavering between two ways of regarding Missy; sometimes he looked at her as if by moonlight, and could see in her nothing but what was beautiful, fresh, pretty, clever and natural; then suddenly, as if the bright sun shone on her, he saw her defects and could not help seeing them.  This was such a day for him.  To-day he saw all the wrinkles of her face, knew which of her teeth were false, saw the way her hair was crimped, the sharpness of her elbows, and, above all, how large her thumb-nail was and how like her father’s.

“Tennis is a dull game,” said Kolosoff; “we used to play lapta when we were children.  That was much more amusing.”

“Oh, no, you never tried it; it’s awfully interesting,” said Missy, laying, it seemed to Nekhludoff, a very affected stress on the word “awfully.”  Then a dispute arose in which Michael Sergeivitch, Katerina Alexeevna and all the others took part, except the governess, the student and the children, who sat silent and wearied.