PART IV
6. CHAPTER VI.
(continued)
In point of fact, he did attach marvellously little importance to
the approaching event. He was occupied with altogether different
thoughts. Aglaya was growing hourly more capricious and gloomy,
and this distressed him. When they told him that Evgenie
Pavlovitch was expected, he evinced great delight, and said that
he had long wished to see him--and somehow these words did not
please anyone.
Aglaya left the room in a fit of irritation, and it was not until
late in the evening, past eleven, when the prince was taking his
departure, that she said a word or two to him, privately, as she
accompanied him as far as the front door.
"I should like you," she said, "not to come here tomorrow until
evening, when the guests are all assembled. You know there are to
be guests, don't you?"
She spoke impatiently and with severity; this was the first
allusion she had made to the party of tomorrow.
She hated the idea of it, everyone saw that; and she would
probably have liked to quarrel about it with her parents, but
pride and modesty prevented her from broaching the subject.
The prince jumped to the conclusion that Aglaya, too, was nervous
about him, and the impression he would make, and that she did not
like to admit her anxiety; and this thought alarmed him.
"Yes, I am invited," he replied.
She was evidently in difficulties as to how best to go on. "May I
speak of something serious to you, for once in my life?" she
asked, angrily. She was irritated at she knew not what, and could
not restrain her wrath.
"Of course you may; I am very glad to listen," replied Muishkin.
Aglaya was silent a moment and then began again with evident
dislike of her subject:
|