"I should like nothing better. .... I will be back immediately, and we will talk it over; all I want is to change my coat. Have the tea brought."
There was something irritating in the tone in which he said, "This is good," as one speaks to a child which has ceased to be capricious, and still more irritating was the discrepancy between her apologetic and his self-confident tone, and for a moment she felt rising within her the desire to be pugnacious. But making an effort to restrain herself, she relinquished it, and met Vronsky as gayly as before.
When he came in, she told him calmly the incidents of the day, and her plans for departure, using in part the very words she had thought over.
"Do you know, it came over me like an inspiration," said she,—"why wait here for the divorce? Will it not be all the same when we are in the country? I cannot wait longer. I want to stop hoping about the divorce. I don't want to hear anything more about it. I think it won't have any more effect on my life. Don't you agree with me?"
"Oh, yes!" said he, looking with disquietude at Anna's excited face.
"Come, tell me what you did; who were there?" said she, after a moment's silence.
Vronsky named over the guests.
"The dinner was excellent. And we had a boat-race, and it was all very jolly. But in Moscow nothing can be done sans ridicule. Some woman, the swimming-teacher of the queen of Sweden, gave us an exhibition of her art."
"What! Did she swim for you?" demanded Anna, frowning.
"Yes, in an ugly red costume de natation. She was old and hideous. .... What day do we go?"
"What an inane idea! Was there anything extraordinary about her method of swimming?" asked Anna, not replying to his question.
"Not at all. I tell you it was horribly stupid. When have you decided to go?"
