When Vronsky returned home, Anna was not yet home. Soon after he

had left, some lady, so they told him, had come to see her, and

she had gone out with her. That she had gone out without leaving

word where she was going, that she had not yet come back, and

that all the morning she had been going about somewhere without a

word to him--all this, together with the strange look of

excitement in her face in the morning, and the recollection of

the hostile tone with which she had before Yashvin almost

snatched her son's photographs out of his hands, made him

serious. He decided he absolutely must speak openly with her.

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And he waited for her in her drawing room. But Anna did not

return alone, but brought with her her old unmarried aunt,

Princess Oblonskaya. This was the lady who had come in the

morning, and with whom Anna had gone out shopping. Anna appeared

not to notice Vronsky's worried and inquiring expression, and

began a lively account of her morning's shopping. He saw that

there was something working within her; in her flashing eyes,

when they rested for a moment on him, there was an intense

concentration, and in her words and movements there was that

nervous rapidity and grace which, during the early period of

their intimacy, had so fascinated him, but which now so disturbed

and alarmed him.

The dinner was laid for four. All were gathered together and

about to go into the little dining room when Tushkevitch made his

appearance with a message from Princess Betsy. Princess Betsy

begged her to excuse her not having come to say good-bye; she had

been indisposed, but begged Anna to come to her between half-past

six and nine o'clock. Vronsky glanced at Anna at the precise

limit of time, so suggestive of steps having been taken that she

should meet no one; but Anna appeared not to notice it.

"Very sorry that I can't come just between half-past six and

nine," she said with a faint smile.

"The princess will be very sorry."

"And so am I."

"You're going, no doubt, to hear Patti?" said Tushkevitch.

"Patti? You suggest the idea to me. I would go if it were

possible to get a box."

"I can get one," Tushkevitch offered his services.

"I should be very, very grateful to you," said Anna. "But won't

you dine with us?"

Vronsky gave a hardly perceptible shrug. He was at a complete

loss to understand what Anna was about. What had she brought the

old Princess Oblonskaya home for, what had she made Tushkevitch

stay to dinner for, and, most amazing of all, why was she sending

him for a box? Could she possibly think in her position of going

to Patti's benefit, where all the circle of her acquaintances

would be? He looked at her with serious eyes, but she responded

with that defiant, half-mirthful, half-desperate look, the

meaning of which he could not comprehend. At dinner Anna was in

aggressively high spirits--she almost flirted both with

Tushkevitch and with Yashvin. When they got up from dinner and

Tushkevitch had gone to get a box at the opera, Yashvin went to

smoke, and Vronsky went down with him to his own rooms. After

sitting there for some time he ran upstairs. Anna was already

dressed in a low-necked gown of light silk and velvet that she

had had made in Paris, and with costly white lace on her head,

framing her face, and particularly becoming, showing up her

dazzling beauty.




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