"Does she speak English?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "But that's all right."

He backed again towards the door.

"My Russian's so slow," he said. "Never been here since I was a kid. I'd
rather not, really--"

However, I dragged him in and introduced him. I had quite a fatherly
desire, as I watched him, that "he should make good." 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.
"Why, you're duller than you used to be," I thought to myself, and
wondered how I could have suspected, in those days, subtle depths and
mysterious comprehensions. Vera Michailovna asked him questions about
France and London but, quite obviously, did not listen to his answers.

After ten minutes he pulled himself up slowly from his chair:

"Well, I must be going," he said. "Tell young Bohun I shall be waiting
for him to-night--7.30--Astoria--" He turned to Vera Michailovna to say
good-bye, and then, suddenly, as she rose and their eyes met, they
seemed to strike some unexpected chord of sympathy. It took both of
them, I think, by surprise; for quite a moment they stared at one