北京英孚英语收费

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北京英孚英语收费




I was an outsider, and, as I had no special matters to air, I was able to spend the evening independently of the others.There was another gentleman present who like myself had just stumbled upon this affair of domestic bliss. He was thefirst to attract my attention. His appearance was not that of a man of birth or high family. He was tall, rather thin, veryserious, and well dressed. Apparently he had no heart for the family festivities. The instant he went off into a corner byhimself the smile disappeared from his face, and his thick dark brows knitted into a frown. He knew no one except thehost and showed every sign of being bored to death, though bravely sustaining the role of thorough enjoyment to theend. Later I learned that he was a provincial, had come to the capital on some important, brain-racking business, hadbrought a letter of recommendation to our host, and our host had taken him under his protection, not at all con amore.It was merely out of politeness that he had invited him to the children's ball.

They did not play cards with him, they did not offer him cigars. No one entered into conversation with him. Possiblythey recognised the bird by its feathers from a distance. Thus, my gentleman, not knowing what to do with his hands,was compelled to spend the evening stroking his whiskers. His whiskers were really fine, but he stroked them soassiduously that one got the feeling that the whiskers had come into the world first and afterwards the man in order tostroke them.

There was another guest who interested me. But he was of quite a different order. He was a personage. They calledhim Julian Mastakovich. At first glance one could tell he was an honoured guest and stood in the same relation to thehost as the host to the gentleman of the whiskers. The host and hostess said no end of amiable things to him, weremost attentive, wining him, hovering over him, bringing guests up to be introduced, but never leading him to any oneelse. I noticed tears glisten in our host's eyes when Julian Mastakovich remarked that he had rarely spent such apleasant evening. Somehow I began to feel uncomfortable in this personage's presence. So, after amusing myself withthe children, five of whom, remarkably well-fed young persons, were our host's, I went into a little sitting-room, entirelyunoccupied, and seated myself at the end that was a conservatory and took up almost half the room.

The children were charming. They absolutely refused to resemble their elders, notwithstanding the efforts of mothersand governesses. In a jiffy t




hey had denuded the Christmas tree down to the very last sweet and had alreadysucceeded in breaking half of their playthings before they even found out which belonged to whom.

One of them was a particularly handsome little lad, dark-eyed, curly-haired, who stubbornly persisted in aiming at mewith his wooden gun. But the child that attracted the greatest attention was his sister, a girl of about eleven, lovely asa Cupid. She was quiet and thoughtful, with large, full, dreamy eyes. The children had somehow offended her, and sheleft them and walked into the same room that I had withdrawn into. There she seated herself with her doll in a corner.

"Her father is an immensely wealthy business man," the guests informed each other in tones of awe.

"Three hundredthousand rubles set aside for her dowry already." As I turned to look at the group from which I heard this news item issuing, my glance met Julian Mastakovich's. Hestood listening to the insipid chatter in an attitude of concentrated attention, with his hands behind his back and hishead inclined to one side.

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