"Well, it can't be helped," said Levin, looking gloomily at
Veslovsky. "Well, Philip, give me some beef, then."
"The beef's been eaten, and the bones given to the dogs,"
answered Philip.
Levin was so hurt that he said, in a tone of vexation, "You might
have left me something!" and he felt ready to cry.
"Then put away the game," he said in a shaking voice to Philip,
trying not to look at Vassenka, "and cover them with some
nettles. And you might at least ask for some milk for me."
But when he had drunk some milk, he felt ashamed immediately at
having shown his annoyance to a stranger, and he began to laugh
at his hungry mortification.
In the evening they went shooting again, and Veslovsky had
several successful shots, and in the night they drove home.
Their homeward journey was as lively as their drive out had been.
Veslovsky sang songs and related with enjoyment his adventures
with the peasants, who had regaled him with vodka, and said to
him, "Excuse our homely ways," and his night's adventures with
kiss-in-the-ring and the servant-girl and the peasant, who had
asked him was he married, and on learning that he was not, said
to him, "Well, mind you don't run after other men's wives--you'd
better get one of your own." These words had particularly amused
Veslovsky.
"Altogether, I've enjoyed our outing awfully. And you, Levin?"
"I have, very much," Levin said quite sincerely. It was
particularly delightful to him to have got rid of the hostility
he had been feeling towards Vassenka Veslovsky at home, and to
feel instead the most friendly disposition to him.