"Of course," he began hurriedly, "I should like to...with pleasure
.. . . only I must confess . . . I am rather surprised . . .
having no recommendations . . . and the views I expressed at the
theatre were more calculated to prejudice you--"

"There you are quite mistaken Alexai--Alexai Dmitritch--have I
got the name right?" Sipiagin asked with a smile. "I may venture
to say that I am well known for my liberal and progressive
opinions. On the contrary, what you said the other evening, with
the exception perhaps of any youthful characteristics, which are
always rather given to exaggeration, if you will excuse my saying
so, I fully agreed with, and was even delighted with your
enthusiasm."

Sipiagin spoke without the slightest hesitation, his words
flowing from him as a stream.

"My wife shares my way of thinking," he continued. "her views
are, if anything, more like yours than mine, which is not
surprising, considering that she is younger than I am. When I
read your name in the paper the day after our meeting--and by the
way, you announced your name and address contrary to the usual
custom--I was rather struck by the coincidence, having already
heard it at the theatre. It seemed to me like the finger of fate.
Excuse my being so superstitious. As for recommendations, I do
not think they are necessary in this case. I, like you, am
accustomed to trusting my intuition. May I hope that you will
come?"