“Yes, it is really much too late to send to town now,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, who had escaped from Aglaya as rapidly as possible. “I am sure the shops are shut in Petersburg; it is past eight o’clock,” he added, looking at his watch.
“We have done without him so far,” interrupted Adelaida in her turn. “Surely we can wait until tomorrow.”
“Besides,” said Colia, “it is quite unusual, almost improper, for people in our position to take any interest in literature. Ask Evgenie Pavlovitch if I am not right. It is much more fashionable to drive a wagonette with red wheels.”
“You got that from some magazine, Colia,” remarked Adelaida.
“He gets most of his conversation in that way,” laughed Evgenie Pavlovitch. “He borrows whole phrases from the reviews. I have long had the pleasure of knowing both Nicholai Ardalionovitch and his conversational methods, but this time he was not repeating something he had read; he was alluding, no doubt, to my yellow wagonette, which has, or had, red wheels. But I have exchanged it, so you are rather behind the times, Colia.”
The prince had been listening attentively to Radomski’s words, and thought his manner very pleasant. When Colia chaffed him about his wagonette he had replied with perfect equality and in a friendly fashion. This pleased Muishkin.
At this moment Vera came up to Lizabetha Prokofievna, carrying several large and beautifully bound books, apparently quite new.
“What is it?” demanded the lady.
“This is Pushkin,” replied the girl. “Papa told me to offer it to you.”
“What? Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Epanchin.