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"No; you don't care, perhaps, to meet Stremov? Let him and Alexey

Alexandrovitch tilt at each other in the committee-that's no

affair of ours. But in the world, he's the most amiable man I

know, and a devoted croquet player. You shall see. And, in spite

of his absurd position as Liza's lovesick swain at his age, you

ought to see how he carries off the absurd position. He's very

nice. Sappho Shtoltz you don't know? Oh, that's a new type, quite

new."

Betsy said all this, and, at the same time, from her

good-humored, shrewd glance, Anna felt that she partly guessed

her plight, and was hatching something for her benefit. They were

in the little boudoir.

"I must write to Alexey though," and Betsy sat down to the table,

scribbled a few lines, and put the note in an envelope.