She was glad of this appeal to her love, but some strange spirit of evil prevented her from yielding.
"Of course you stayed because you wanted to; you always do as you please. But why tell me so? What is the good?" answered she, growing more and more heated. "Who denies that you tell the truth? You wish to justify yourself, do so then!"
Vronsky drew back his hand, and his face became more set than before.
"For you this is a matter of obstinacy," she cried, looking at him fixedly, and suddenly finding the term by which to call the expression of his face which exasperated her—"sheer obstinacy. For you the question is to see whether you will win the victory over me. But the question for me .... "and again the sense of her pitiable lot came over her, and she almost sobbed. "If you knew what it meant for me when I feel, as I do now, that you hate me, ....yes, hate me! If you knew what it meant for me! If you knew how near I am to horrible misfortune at these moments! how I fear.... how I fear for myself,"—and she turned away to hide her sobs.
"But what's all this for?" said Vronsky, alarmed at this despair, and leaning toward Anna to take her hand and kiss it. "Do I seek outside diversion? Don't I avoid the society of women?"
"As if that were all!" said she.
"Well! Tell me what I must do to make you content. I am ready to do anything that you may be happy," said he, moved to see her in such despair. "What would I not do to spare you such grief, Anna!" he said.
"It's nothing, nothing," she replied. "I myself don't know. It's the loneliness: it 's my nerves. .... There, let's not talk about it any more. .... Tell me what happened at the races. Why have n't you told me about it?" she asked, attempting to conceal the pride she felt at her victory, for she knew it rested with her.
Vronsky asked for some supper, and as he was eating described to her the incidents of the races; but
