"How is it awful?" asked Ognev, shrugging his shoulders and not
concealing his surprise. "What's the matter?"

Still breathing hard and twitching her shoulders, Vera turned her
back to him, looked at the sky for half a minute, and said:

"There is something I must say to you, Ivan Alexeyitch. . . ."

"I am listening."

"It may seem strange to you. . . . You will be surprised, but I
don't care. . . ."

Ognev shrugged his shoulders once more and prepared himself to
listen.

"You see . . ." Verotchka began, bowing her head and fingering a
ball on the fringe of her shawl. "You see . . . this is what I
wanted to tell you. . . . You'll think it strange . . . and silly,
but I . . . can't bear it any longer."

Vera's words died away in an indistinct mutter and were suddenly
cut short by tears. The girl hid her face in her handkerchief, bent
lower than ever, and wept bitterly. Ivan Alexeyitch cleared his
throat in confusion and looked about him hopelessly, at his wits'
end, not knowing what to say or do. Being unused to the sight of
tears, he felt his own eyes, too, beginning to smart.

"Well, what next!" he muttered helplessly. "Vera Gavrilovna, what's
this for, I should like to know? My dear girl, are you . . . are