When he came out of the house, an isvostchik he knew, with
india-rubber tires to his trap, was at the door waiting for him.
"You had hardly gone away from Prince Korchagin's yesterday," he
said, turning half round, "when I drove up, and the Swiss at the
door says, 'just gone.'" The isvostchik knew that Nekhludoff
visited at the Korchagins, and called there on the chance of
being engaged by him.

"Even the isvostchiks know of my relations with the Korchagins,"
thought Nekhludoff, and again the question whether he should not
marry Princess Korchagin presented itself to him, and he could
not decide it either way, any more than most of the questions
that arose in his mind at this time.

It was in favour of marriage in general, that besides the
comforts of hearth and home, it made a moral life possible, and
chiefly that a family would, so Nekhludoff thought, give an aim
to his now empty life.

Against marriage in general was the fear, common to bachelors
past their first youth, of losing freedom, and an unconscious awe
before this mysterious creature, a woman.

In this particular case, in favour of marrying Missy (her name
was Mary, but, as is usual among a certain set, a nickname had
been given her) was that she came of good family, and differed in
everything, manner of speaking, walking, laughing, from the
common people, not by anything exceptional, but by her "good
breeding"--he could find no other term for this quality, though
he prized it very highly---and, besides, she thought more of him