After seeing her guests off, Anna began pacing up and down the room without sitting down. Though for the whole evening (lately she had acted the same way towards all young men) she had unconsciously done everything she could to arouse a feeling of love for her in Levin, and though she knew that she had succeeded in it, as far as one could with regard to an honest, married man in one evening, and though she liked him very much (despite the sharp contrast, from a man’s point of view, between Levin and Vronsky, as a woman she saw what they had in common, for which Kitty, too, had loved them both), as soon as he left the room, she stopped thinking about him.
One and only one thought relentlessly pursued her in various forms. ‘If I have such an effect on others, on this loving family man, why is he so cold to me? ... or not really cold, he loves me, I know that. But something new separates us now. Why was he gone all evening? He sent word with Stiva that he could not leave Yashvin and had to watch over his gambling. Is Yashvin a child? But suppose it’s true. He never tells lies. But there’s something else in this truth. He’s glad of an occasion to show me that he has other responsibilities. I know that, I agree with it. But why prove it to me? He wants to prove to me that his love for me shouldn’t hinder his freedom. But I don’t need proofs, I need love. He ought to have understood all the difficulty of my life here in Moscow. Do I live? I don’t live, I wait for a denouement that keeps being postponed. Again there’s no answer! And Stiva says he can’t go to Alexei Alexandrovich. And I can’t write again. I can’t do anything, start anything, change anything. I restrain myself, wait, invent amusements for myself - the Englishman’s family, writing, reading - but it’s all only a deception, the same morphine again. He ought to pity me,’ she said, feeling tears of self-pity come to her eyes.
She heard Vronsky’s impetuous ring and hastily wiped her tears, and not only wiped them but sat down by the lamp and opened the book, pretending to be calm. She had to show him that she was displeased that he had not come back as he had promised, only displeased, but in no way show him her grief and least of all her self-pity. She might have pity for herself, but not he for her. She did not want to fight, she reproached him for wanting to fight, but involuntarily she herself assumed a fighting position.
‘Well, you weren’t bored?’ he said, coming up to her, cheerful and animated. ‘What a terrible passion - gambling!’
‘No, I wasn’t bored, I learned long ago not to be bored. Stiva was here, and Levin.’
‘Yes, they wanted to come and see you. Well, how do you like Levin?’ he said, sitting beside her.
‘Very much. They left not long ago. What did Yashvin do?’
‘He was winning - seventeen thousand. I called him. He was just about to leave. But he went back and now he’s losing again.’
‘What good was your staying then?’ she asked, suddenly raising her eyes to him. The expression on her face was cold and inimical. ‘You told Stiva you were staying to take Yashvin away. And you left him there.’
The same expression of cold readiness for a fight also showed on his face.
‘First of all, I didn’t ask him to convey anything to you; second, I never tell lies. And the main thing is that I wanted to stay and so I did,’ he said, frowning. ‘Anna, why, why?’ he said, after a moment’s silence, leaning towards her and opening his hand, hoping she would put her hand in it.
She was glad of this invitation to tenderness. But some strange power of evil would not allow her to yield to her impulse, as if the conditions of the fight did not allow her to submit.
‘Of course, you wanted to stay and so you did. You do whatever you like. But why do you tell that to me? Why?’ she said, becoming still angrier. ‘Does anyone dispute your rights? No, you want to be right, so be right.’
His hand closed, he drew back, and his face assumed a still more stubborn expression than before.
‘For you it’s a matter of obstinacy,’ she said, looking intently at him and suddenly finding the name for that annoying expression on his face, ‘precisely of obstinacy. For you it’s a question of whether you are victorious over me, but for me ...’ Again she felt pity for herself and she all but wept. ‘If you knew what it is for me! When I feel, as I do now, that you look at me with hostility - yes, with hostility - if you knew what that means for me! If you knew how close I am to disaster in these moments, how afraid I am, afraid of myself!’ And she turned away, hiding her sobs.
‘But what is this all about?’ he said, horrified at the expression of her despair and, leaning towards her again, he took her hand and kissed it. ‘Why? Do I look for outside amusements? Don’t I avoid other women’s company?’
‘I should hope so!’ she said.
