where he was in fault.

To complete his embarrassment, he was absolutely at a loss what to
say, and yet something he must say. To say bluntly, "I don't love
you," was beyond him, and he could not bring himself to say "Yes,"
because however much he rummaged in his heart he could not find one
spark of feeling in it. . . .

He was silent, and she meanwhile was saying that for her there was
no greater happiness than to see him, to follow him wherever he
liked this very moment, to be his wife and helper, and that if he
went away from her she would die of misery.

"I cannot stay here!" she said, wringing her hands. "I am sick of
the house and this wood and the air. I cannot bear the everlasting
peace and aimless life, I can't endure our colourless, pale people,
who are all as like one another as two drops of water! They are all
good-natured and warm-hearted because they are all well-fed and
know nothing of struggle or suffering, . . . I want to be in those
big damp houses where people suffer, embittered by work and
need. . ."

And this, too, seemed to Ognev affected and not to be taken seriously.
When Vera had finished he still did not know what to say, but it
was impossible to be silent, and he muttered:

"Vera Gavrilovna, I am very grateful to you, though I feel I've
done nothing to deserve such . . . feeling . . . on your part.
Besides, as an honest man I ought to tell you that . . . happiness
depends on equality--that is, when both parties are . . . equally