RUDIN
‘You understand, Sergei Pavlitch,’ continued Rudin, ‘that if I were not convinced . . .’
‘Upon my word!’ interrupted Volintsev, ‘I don’t doubt it in the least. . . . Well! so be it! Good luck to you! Only I wonder what the devil induced you to come with this news to me. . . . What have I to do with it? What is it to me whom you love, or who loves you? It simply passes my comprehension.’
Volintsev continued to stare out of the window. His voice sounded choked.
Rudin got up.
‘I will tell you, Sergei Pavlitch, why I decided to come to you, why I did not even think I had the right to hide from you our—our mutual feelings. I have too profound an esteem for you—that is why I have come; I did not want . . . we both did not wish to play a part before you. Your feeling for Natalya Alexyevna was known to me. . . . Believe me, I have no illusions about myself; I know how little I deserve to supplant you in her heart, but if it was fated this should be, is it made any better by pretence, hypocrisy, and deceit? Is it any better to expose ourselves to mis-
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