that formed my happiness. I should have been happy, instead of being ashamed.”
I began to sob again and hid my face.
Just then Kátya and Sónya, wet and cheerful, came out to the veranda, laughing and talking loudly. They were silent as soon as they saw us, and went in again immediately.
We remained silent for a long time. I had had my cry out and felt relieved. I glanced at him. He was sitting with his head resting on his hand; he intended to make some reply to my glance, but only sighed deeply and resumed his former position.
I went up to him and removed his hand. His eyes turned thoughtfully to my face.
“Yes,” he began, as if continuing his thoughts aloud, “all of us, and especially you women, must have personal experience of all the nonsense of life, in order to get back to life itself; the evidence of other people is no good. At that time you had not got near the end of that charming nonsense which I admired in you. So I let you go through it alone, feeling that I had no right to put pressure on you, though my own time for that sort of thing was long past.”
“If you loved me,” I said, “how could you stand beside me and suffer me to go through it?”
“Because it was impossible for you to take my word for it, though you would have tried to. Personal experience was necessary, and now you have had it.”
“There was much calculation in all that,” I said, “but little love.”
And again we were silent.