He intended to go back to his room to turn the tenseness of his mood to account as an artistic motive in his novel; but as he hurried past the old house, he noticed that the door was half open, and went in. Since his arrival he had only been here for a moment with Marfinka, and had glanced into Vera’s room. Now it occurred to him to make a closer inspection. Passing through his old bedroom and two or three other rooms, he came into the corner room, then with an expression of extreme astonishment in his face he stood still. Leaning on the window-sill, so that her profile was turned towards him, stood a girl of two or three and twenty, looking with strained curiosity, as if she were following some one with her eyes, down to the bank of the Volga. He was startled by the white, almost pallid face under the dark hair, the velvet-black eyes with their long lashes. Her face, still looking anxiously into the distance, gradually assumed an indifferent expression. The girl glanced hastily over park and courtyard, then as she turned and caught sight of him, shrank back. “Sister Vera!” he cried. Her face cleared, and her eyes remained fixed on him with an expression of modest curiosity, as he approached to kiss her. She drew back almost imperceptibly, turning her head a little so that his lips touched her cheek, not her mouth, and they sat down opposite the window. Impatient to hear her voice he began: “How eagerly I have expected you, and you have stayed away so long.” “Marina told me yesterday that you were here.” Her voice, though not so clear as Marfinka’s, was still fresh and youthful. “Grandmother wanted to send you word of my arrival, but I begged her not to tell you. When did you return? No one told me you were here.” “Yesterday, after supper. Grandmother and my sister don’t know I am here yet. No one saw me but Marina.” She threw some white garments that lay beside her into the next room, pushed aside a bundle and brought a table to the window. Then she sat down again, with a manner quite unconstrained, as if she were alone. “I have prepared coffee,” she said. “Will you drink it with me. It will be a long time before it is ready at the other house. Marfinka gets up late.” “I should like it very much,” he replied, following her with his eyes. Like a true artist he abandoned himself to the new and unexpected impression. “You must have forgotten me, Vera,” he remarked after a pause, with an affectionate note in his voice. “No,” she said, as he poured out the coffee, “I remember everything. How was it possible to forget you when Grandmother was for ever talking about you?” He would have liked to ask her question after question, but they crowded into his brain in so disconnected a fashion that he did not know where to begin. “I have already been in your room. Forgive the intrusion,” he said. “There is nothing remarkable here,” she said hastily, looking around as if something not intended for strange eyes might be lying about.