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‘Oh, no!’ said Dolly. ‘At first it was uncomfortable, but now everything’s settled beautifully, thanks to my old nanny,’ she said, pointing to Matryona Filimonovna, who, realizing that they were talking about her, smiled gaily and amiably to Levin. She knew him, knew that he was a good match for the young lady, and wished things would work out.

‘Get in, please, we’ll squeeze over,’ she said to him.

‘No, I’ll walk. Children, who wants to race the horses with me?’

The children scarcely knew Levin, did not remember when they had last seen him, but did not show that strange feeling of shyness and aversion towards him that children so often feel for shamming adults, for which they are so often painfully punished. Shamming in anything at all can deceive the most intelligent, perceptive person; but the most limited child will recognize it and feel aversion, no matter how artfully it is concealed. Whatever Levin’s shortcomings were, there was no hint of sham in him, and therefore the children showed him the same friendliness they found in their mother’s face. At his invitation the two older ones at once jumped down and ran with him as simply as they would have run with the nanny, with Miss Hull, or with their mother. Lily also started asking to go with him, and her mother handed her down to him; he put her on his shoulders and ran with her.

‘Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, Darya Alexandrovna!’ he said, smiling gaily to the mother. ‘There’s no chance I’ll hurt her or drop her.’

And seeing his deft, strong, cautiously mindful and all-too-tense movements, the mother calmed down and smiled gaily and approvingly as she watched him.

Here, in the country, with the children and Darya Alexandrovna, who was so sympathetic to him, Levin got into that childishly merry state of mind that often came over him, and which Darya Alexandrovna especially loved in him. He ran with the children, taught them gymnastics, made Miss Hull laugh with his bad English, and told Darya Alexandrovna about his occupations in the country.

After dinner, sitting alone with him on the balcony, Darya Alexandrovna began talking about Kitty.

‘Do you know, Kitty’s coming here and will spend the summer with me.’

‘Really?’ he said, flushing; and to change the subject, said at once: ‘Shall I send you two cows then? If you want to keep accounts, then you can pay me five roubles a month, if you’re not ashamed.’

‘No, thank you. We’re all settled.’

‘Well, then I’ll have a look at your cows and, with your permission, give orders on how to feed them. The whole thing is in the feeding.’

And Levin, only to divert the conversation, explained to Darya Alexandrovna the theory of dairy farming, the essence of which was that a cow is merely a machine for processing feed into milk, and so on.

He was saying that while passionately wishing to hear the details about Kitty and at the same time fearing it. He was afraid that the peace he had attained with such difficulty might be disturbed.

‘Yes, but anyhow all that has to be looked after, and who will do it?’ Darya Alexandrovna replied reluctantly.

She had now set up her housekeeping so well through Matryona Filimonovna that she did not want to change anything in it; nor did she trust Levin’s knowledge of agriculture. The argument that a cow is a machine for producing milk was suspect to her. It seemed to her that such arguments could only hinder things. To her it all seemed much simpler: as Matryona Filimonovna explained, they had only to give Spotty and Whiterump more to eat and drink, and keep the cook from taking the kitchen scraps to the washerwoman’s cow. That was clear. And all this talk about starchy and grassy feeds was dubious and vague. Above all she wanted to talk about Kitty.

X

‘Kitty writes to me that she wishes for nothing so much as solitude and quiet,’ Dolly said after the ensuing pause.

‘And has her health improved?’ Levin asked anxiously.

‘Thank God, she’s quite recovered. I never believed she had anything wrong