"I--love you!" stammered Novikoff.

For him, the moon no longer shone; the evening air seemed stifling, the
earth, he thought, would open beneath his feet.

"I don't know how to make speeches--but--no matter, I love you very
much!"

("Why, very much?" he thought to himself, "as if I were alluding to
ice-cream.")

Lida played nervously with a little leaf that had fluttered down into
her hands. What she had just heard embarrassed her, being both
unexpected and futile; besides, it created a novel feeling of
disagreeable restraint between herself and Novikoff whom from her
childhood she had always looked upon as a relative, and whom she liked.

"I really don't know what to say! I had never thought about it."

Novikoff felt a dull pain at his heart, as if it would stop beating.
Very pale, he rose and seized his cap.

"Good-bye," he said, not hearing the sound of his own voice. His
quivering lips were twisted into a meaningless smile.

"Are you going? Good-bye!" said Lida, laughing nervously and proffering
her hand.

Novikoff grasped it hastily, and without putting on his cap strode out