the previous year.

Two weeks before the day arranged for the wedding, Kasatsky was at
Tsarskoe Selo at his fiancee's country place. It was a hot day in May.
He and his betrothed had walked about the garden and were sitting on
a bench in a shady linden alley. Mary's white muslin dress suited her
particularly well, and she seemed the personification of innocence and
love as she sat, now bending her head, now gazing up at the very tall
and handsome man who was speaking to her with particular tenderness and
self-restraint, as if he feared by word or gesture to offend or sully
her angelic purity.

Kasatsky belonged to those men of the eighteen-forties (they are now no
longer to be found) who while deliberately and without any conscientious
scruples condoning impurity in themselves, required ideal and angelic
purity in their women, regarded all unmarried women of their circle as
possessed of such purity, and treated them accordingly. There was much
that was false and harmful in this outlook, as concerning the laxity the
men permitted themselves, but in regard to the women that old-fashioned
view (sharply differing from that held by young people to-day who see in
every girl merely a female seeking a mate) was, I think, of value. The
girls, perceiving such adoration, endeavoured with more or less success
to be goddesses.

Such was the view Kasatsky held of women, and that was how he regarded
his fiancee. He was particularly in love that day, but did not
experience any sensual desire for her. On the contrary he regarded her
with tender adoration as something unattainable.

He rose to his full height, standing before her with both hands on his