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:
'If you guess who it is writes to you, and if it is not a bore to you, come to-morrow after dinner to the Tversky boulevard — about five o'clock — and wait. You shall not be kept long. But it is very important. Do come.'
There was no signature. Aratov at once guessed who was his correspondent, and this was just what disturbed him. ' What folly,' he said, almost aloud; ' this is too much. Of course I shan't go.' He sent, however, for the
