in love. . . ."

But he was immediately ashamed of his mutterings and ceased. He
felt that his face at that moment looked stupid, guilty, blank,
that it was strained and affected. . . . Vera must have been able
to read the truth on his countenance, for she suddenly became grave,
turned pale, and bent her head.

"You must forgive me," Ognev muttered, not able to endure the
silence. "I respect you so much that . . . it pains me. . . ."

Vera turned sharply and walked rapidly homewards. Ognev followed
her.

"No, don't!" said Vera, with a wave of her hand. "Don't come; I can
go alone."

"Oh, yes . . . I must see you home anyway."

Whatever Ognev said, it all to the last word struck him as loathsome
and flat. The feeling of guilt grew greater at every step. He raged
inwardly, clenched his fists, and cursed his coldness and his
stupidity with women. Trying to stir his feelings, he looked at
Verotchka's beautiful figure, at her hair and the traces of her
little feet on the dusty road; he remembered her words and her
tears, but all that only touched his heart and did not quicken his
pulse.

"Ach! one can't force oneself to love," he assured himself, and at
the same time he thought, "But shall I ever fall in love without?