“Yes, yes,” he answered aloud. “In the morning, and for the whole day?” “Yes.” She splashed his face playfully with water. “How bright and cheerful everything looks!” she remarked as she gazed about her. “Let us come again to-morrow. This time I shall come straight from home.” “Then you have not come straight from home to-day?” “No, but from a shop, from a jeweller’s.” Oblomov looked alarmed. “Suppose your aunt were to find out?” he suggested. “Oh, suppose the Neva were to become dried up, and that this boat were to overturn, and that our house were suddenly to fall down, and that--that you were suddenly to lose your love for me?” As she spoke she splashed him again. “Listen, Olga,” he said when they had landed on the bank. “At the risk of vexing and offending you, I ought to tell you something.” “What is it?” Her tone was impatient. “That we ought not to be indulging in these secret meetings.” “But we are betrothed to one another?” “Yes, dearest Olga,” he replied, pressing her hands, “and therefore we are bound to be all the more careful. I would rather be walking with you along this avenue _publicly_ than _by stealth_--I would rather see the eyes of passers-by drop respectfully before you than run the risk of incurring a suspicion that you have so far forgotten your modesty and your upbringing as to lose your head and fail in your duty.” “But I have _not_ forgotten my modesty and my upbringing,” she exclaimed, withdrawing her hands. “No, I know that you have not,” he agreed. “I was merely thinking of what people _might_ say--of how the world in general _might_ look upon it all. Pray do not misunderstand me. What I desire is that to the world you should seem to be as pure, as irreproachable, as in actual fact you are. To me your conduct seems solely honourable and modest; but would every one believe it to be so?” “What you say is right,” she said after a pause. “Consequently, let us tell my aunt to-morrow, and obtain her consent.” Oblomov turned pale. “Why hurry so?” he asked. “I know that, two weeks ago, I myself was urging haste; but at that time I had not thought of the necessary preparations.” “Then your heart is failing you? That I can see clearly.” “No; I am merely cautious. Even now I see a carriage approaching us. Are you _sure_ that the people in it are not acquaintances of yours? How these things throw one into a fever of perspiration I Let us depart as quickly as possible.” And with that he set off, almost at a run. “Until to-morrow, then,” she said. “No, until the day after to-morrow. That would be better. Or even until Friday or Saturday.” “No, no; you must come to-morrow. Do you hear? What have we not come to! What a mountain of sorrow are you not threatening to bring upon my head!” She turned to go home. III