'Congratulate me, dear Dmitri, I have a suitor. He dined with us
yesterday: papa made his acquaintance at the English club, I fancy,
and invited him. Of course he did not come yesterday as a suitor. But
good mamma, to whom papa had made known his hopes, whispered in my ear
what this guest was. His name is Yegor Andreyevitch Kurnatovsky; he
is upper-secretary to the Senate. I will first describe to you his
appearance. He is of medium height, shorter than you, and a good
figure; his features are regular, he is close-cropped, and wears large
whiskers. His eyes are rather small (like yours), brown, and quick;
he has a flat wide mouth; in his eyes and on his lips there is a
perpetual sort of official smile; it seems to be always on duty
there. He behaves very simply and speaks precisely, and everything
about him is precise; he moves, laughs, and eats as though he were
doing a duty. "How carefully she has studied him!" you are thinking,
perhaps, at this minute. Yes; so as to be able to describe him to
you. And besides, who wouldn't study her suitor! There's something of
iron in him--and dull and empty at the same time--and honest; they say
he is really very honest. You, too, are made of iron; but not like
this man. At dinner he sat next me, and facing us sat Shubin. At first
the conversation turned on commercial undertakings; they say he is
very clever in business matters, and was almost throwing up his
government post to take charge of a large manufacturing business. Pity
he didn't do it! Then Shubin began to talk about the theatre; Mr.
Kurnatovsky declared and--I must confess--without false modesty, that
he has no ideas about art. That reminded me of you--but I thought;
no, Dmitri and I are ignorant of art in a very different way though.
This man seemed to mean, "I know nothing of it, and it's quite
superfluous, still it may be admitted in a well-ordered state." He
seems, however, to think very little about Petersburg and _comme il
faut_: he once even called himself one of the proletariat. 'We are