Vronsky had never had a real home life. His mother had been in her youth a
brilliant society woman, who had had during her married life, and still more
afterwards, many love affairs notorious in the whole fashionable world. His father
he scarcely remembered, and he had been educated in the Corps of Pages.
Leaving the school very young as a brilliant officer, he had at once got into the
circle of wealthy Petersburg army men. Although he did go more or less into
Petersburg society, his love affairs had always hitherto been outside it.
In Moscow he had for the first time felt, after his luxurious and coarse life at
Petersburg, all the charm of intimacy with a sweet and innocent girl of his own
rank, who cared for him. It never even entered his head that there could be any
harm in his relations with Kitty. At balls he danced principally with her. He was a
constant visitor at their house. He talked to her as people commonly do talk in
society--all sorts of nonsense, but nonsense to which he could not help attaching
a special meaning in her case. Although he said nothing to her that he could not
have said before everybody, he felt that she was becoming more and more
dependent upon him, and the more he felt this, the better he liked it, and the
tenderer was his feeling for her. He did not know that his mode of behavior in
relation to Kitty had a definite character, that it is courting young girls with no
intention of marriage, and that such courting is one of the evil actions common
among brilliant young men such as he was. It seemed to him that he was the first
who had discovered this pleasure, and he was enjoying his discovery.
If he could have heard what her parents were saying that evening, if he could
have put himself at the point ov view of the family and have heard that Kitty
would be unhappy if he did not marry her, he would have been greatly
astonished, and would not have believed it. He could not believe that what gave
such great and delicate pleasure to him, and above all to her, could be wrong.
Still less could he have believed that he ought to marry.
Marriage had never presented itself to him as a possibility. He not only disliked
family life, but a family, and especially a husband was, in accordance with the
views general in the bachelor world in which he lived, conceived as something
alien, repellant, and, above all, ridiculous.
But though Vronsky had not the least suspicion what the parents were saying, he
felt on coming away from the Shtcherbatskys' that the secret spiritual bond which
existed between him and Kitty had grown so much stronger that evening that
some step must be taken. But what step could and ought to be taken he could