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Updated: June 13, 2025
I heard that Vera Michailovna and Nina had called many times. Markovitch had been, and Henry Bohun and Lawrence. Then, one sunny afternoon, Henry Bohun came in and I was surprised at my pleasure at the sight of him. He was shocked at the change in me, and was too young to conceal it. "Oh, you do look bad!" were his first words as he sat down by my bed. "I say, are you comfortable here?
And while I was thinking of these things Vera Michailovna came in. She was suddenly in the room, standing there, her furs up to her throat, her body in shadow, but her large, grave eyes shining through the candlelight, her mouth smiling. "Is it all right?" she said, coming forward. "I'm not in the way? You're not sleeping?" I told her that I was delighted to see her.
Vera Michailovna perhaps, although let no one imagine that I fell in love with her or ever thought of doing so. No, my time for that was over. But I felt from the first that she was a fine, understanding creature, that she sympathised with me without pitying me, that she would be a good and loyal friend, and that I, on my side could give her comprehension and fidelity.
That was wrong of me, and I shall be punished for it." "Speak to her," I said. "She loves you so much that one word from you to her will be enough." "No," Vera Michailovna said slowly. "It won't be enough now. A year ago, yes. But now she's escaping as fast as she can." "Perhaps she's in love with some one," I suggested. "No. I should have seen at once if it had been that.
But I'm afraid that that first interview was not a great success. Vera Michailovna was strange that afternoon, excited and disturbed as I had never known her, and I could see that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she could bring herself to think about Jerry at all. And Jerry himself was so unresponsive that I could have beaten him.
A strange contrast was her sister, Nina Michailovna, a girl still, it seemed, in childhood, pretty, with brown hair, laughing eyes, and a trembling mouth that seemed ever on the edge of laughter. Her body was soft and plump; she had lovely hands, of which she was obviously very proud. Vera dressed sternly, often in black, with a soft white collar, almost like a nurse or nun.
"Splendid!"... "But this year however did you find it, Vera Michailovna?" "To take such trouble!..." "Splendid! Splendid!" Then we were given our presents. Vera, it was obvious had chosen them, for there was taste and discrimination in the choice of every one. Mine was a little old religious figure in beaten silver Lawrence had a silver snuff-box.... Every one was delighted. We clapped our hands.
Vera Michailovna on the other hand was a fine young woman and it must have been the first thought of all who met them as to why she had married him. She gave an impression of great strength; her figure tall and her bosom full, her dark eyes large and clear. She had black hair, a vast quantity of it, piled upon her head. Her face was finely moulded, her lips strong, red, sharply marked.
I was silent, then I said: "And the third thing, Vera Michailovna?" "Uncle Alexei is coming back." That startled me. I felt my heart give one frantic leap. "Alexei Petrovitch!" I cried. "When? How soon?" "I don't know. I've had a letter." She felt in her dress, found the letter and read it through. "Soon, perhaps. He's leaving the Front for good. He's disgusted with it all, he says.
They say he's fearfully stuck-up and thinks about nothing but himself.... I don't agree, of course all the same, he might make himself more agreeable to people." "What nonsense!" I answered hotly. "Lawrence is one of the best fellows that ever breathed. The Markovitches don't dislike him, do they?" "No, he's quite different with them. Vera Michailovna likes him I know."
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