'Why? what?' Aratov queried.

'You've met for certain at that matinee one of those long-tailed
creatures'--this was how Platonida Ivanovna always spoke of all
fashionably-dressed ladies of the period--'with a pretty dolly face;
and she goes prinking _this_ way ... and pluming _that_ way'--Platonida
presented these fancied manoeuvres in mimicry--'and making saucers like
this with her eyes'--and she drew big, round circles in the air with her
forefinger--'You're not used to that sort of thing. So you fancied ... but
that means nothing, Yasha ... no-o-thing at all! Drink a cup of posset at
night ... it'll pass off!... Lord, succour us!'

Platosha ceased speaking, and left the room.... She had hardly ever uttered
such a long and animated speech in her life.... While Aratov thought,
'Auntie's right, I dare say.... I'm not used to it; that's all ...'--it
actually was the first time his attention had ever happened to be drawn to
a person of the female sex ... at least he had never noticed it before--'I
mustn't give way to it.'

And he set to work on his books, and at night drank some lime-flower tea;
and positively slept well that night, and had no dreams. The next morning
he took up his photography again as though nothing had happened....

But towards evening his spiritual repose was again disturbed.


VI

And this is what happened. A messenger brought him a note, written in a
large irregular woman's hand, and containing the following lines: