What had she brought

What had she brought the old Princess Oblonskaia home for, what had she made Tushkevich stay to dinner for, and, most amazing of all, why was she sending him for a box? Could she possibly think in her position of going to Patti’s benefit, where all the circle of her acquaintances would be? He looked at her with serious eyes, but she responded with that defiant, half-mirthful, half-desperate look, the meaning of which he could not comprehend. At dinner Anna was in aggressively high spirits - she almost flirted both with Tushkevich and with Iashvin. When they got up from dinner and Tushkevich had gone to get a box at the opera, Iashvin went to mbt maliza black smoke, and Vronsky went down with him to his own rooms. After sitting there for some time he ran upstairs. Anna was already dressed in a low-necked gown of light silk and velvet that she had had made in Paris, and with costly white lace on her head, framing her face, and particularly becoming, showing up her dazzling beauty.
`Are you really going to the theater?’ he said, trying not to look at her.
`Why do you ask with such alarm?’ she said, wounded again at his not looking at her. `Why shouldn’t I go?’
She appeared not to understand the meaning of his words.
`Oh, of course there’s no reason whatever,’ he said frowning.
`That’s just what I say,’ she said, willfully refusing to see the irony of his tone, and quietly turning back her long, perfumed glove.
`Anna, for God’s sake! What is the matter with you?’ he said, watching her exactly as once her husband had done.
`I don’t understand what you are asking.’
`You know that it’s out of the question to go.’
`Why so? I’m not going alone. Princess Varvara has gone to dress - she is going with me.’
He shrugged his shoulders with an air of perplexity and despair.
`But do you mean to say you don’t know?…’ he began.
`But I don’t care to know!’ she almost shrieked. `I don’t care to. Do I regret what I have done? No, no, no! If mbt karibu white it were all to do again from the beginning, it would be the same. For us, for you and for me, there is only one thing that matters, whether we love each other. Other people we need not consider. Why are we living here apart and not seeing each other? Why can’t I go? I love you, and I don’t care for anything,’ she said in Russian, glancing at him with a peculiar, obscure for him, gleam in her eyes, `if you have not changed to me…. Why don’t you look at me?’
He looked at her. He saw all the beauty of her face and full dress, always so becoming to her. But now her beauty and elegance were just what irritated him.
`My feeling cannot change, you know, but I beg you, I entreat you,’ he said again in French, with a note of tender supplication in his voice, but with coldness in his eyes.
She did not hear his words, but she saw the coldness of his eyes, and answered with irritation: