“You can go, Dunyasha, I’ll call you presently,” said Kitty. “Kostya, what’s the matter?” she asked, definitely adopting this familiar name as soon as the maid had gone out. She noticed his strange face, agitated and gloomy, and a panic came over her.
“Kitty! I’m in torture. I can’t suffer alone,” he said with despair in his voice, standing before her and looking imploringly into her eyes. He saw already from her loving, truthful face, that nothing could come of what he had meant to say, but yet he wanted her to reassure him herself. “I’ve come to say that there’s still time. This can all be stopped and set right.”
“What? I don’t understand. What is the matter?”
“What I have said a thousand times over, and can’t help thinking … that I’m not worthy of you. You couldn’t consent to marry me. Think a little. You’ve made a mistake. Think it over thoroughly. You can’t love me. … If … better say so,” he said, not looking at her. “I shall be wretched. Let people say what they like; anything’s better than misery. … Far better now while there’s still time. …”
“I don’t understand,” she answered, panic-stricken; “you mean you want to give it up … don’t want it?”
“Yes, if you don’t love me.”
“You’re out of your mind!” she cried, turning crimson with vexation. But his face was so piteous, that she restrained her vexation, and flinging some clothes off an armchair, she sat down beside him. “What are you thinking? tell me all.”
“I am thinking you can’t love me. What can you love me for?”
“My God! what can I do? …” she said, and burst into tears.
“Oh! what have I done?” he cried, and kneeling before her, he fell to kissing her hands.