“No doubt that is the one I am destined to marry,” thought a spinster who had been going out for eight years.
“No doubt it was for the best that that stupid officer of the Chevalier Guards did not propose to me. I should certainly have been unhappy.”
“Well, they will again grow yellow with envy, if this one, too, falls in love with me,” thought a young and pretty lady.
We hear much about the provincialism of small towns—but there is nothing worse than the provincialism of the upper classes. There are no new persons there, and society is prepared to receive all kinds of new persons, if they should make their appearance; but they are rarely, very rarely, recognized as belonging to their circle and accepted, as was the case with the Labázovs, and the sensation produced by them is stronger than in a provincial town.