the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part she
played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude
things, but she--a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through
two fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always
gravitated towards acquaintances of high rank--did not understand
him, and twice a week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he
hated.

In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of
a strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him. . . .
It seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the
Shumihins' cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious,
loud-voiced, laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty,
with rosy cheeks, plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual
smile on her thin lips. She was neither young nor beautiful--
Volodya knew that perfectly well; but for some reason he could not
help thinking of her, looking at her while she shrugged her plump
shoulders and moved her flat back as she played croquet, or after
prolonged laughter and running up and down stairs, sank into a low
chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping for breath, pretended
that she was stifling and could not breathe. She was married. Her
husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a week to the
villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's strange feeling
had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred for the
architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town.

Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day,
and of his _maman_, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire
to see Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna),
to hear her laughter and the rustle of her dress. . . . This desire