about their love.
“Sophie,” he began, timidly at first and then more and more boldly, “if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and advantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow … he is my friend …”
Sónya interrupted him.
“I have already refused,” she said hurriedly.
“If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I …”
Sónya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look.
“Nicolas, don’t tell me that!” she said.
“No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else. …”
“That is enough for me,” said Sónya, blushing.
“No, but I