You were wonderful (i.2)
"You are too serious, Archie. And how do you know what Mrs. Morrison was like in her youth?"
"I have heard all about her past. And you, Robert, are fooling around, trying... what are you trying to do, exactly?"
Robert carefully returned the china vase to the shelf and, with a face expressing genuine sincerity, sat down opposite Archibald.
"You must accept the invitation. Archie, it will do you good. You haven't been seen in society for a long time; all you do is sit in your rooms and never go out. You've even stopped going to the theatre!"
"And if I don't want to be seen in society?" Archibald asked, looking away at the window.
"Archie, listen to me. Do you remember what happened a year ago? You were brilliant. You were wonderful!"
"That is exactly why I don't want to go back. They will demand that I be 'wonderful' again."
Robert spread his hands.
"Archibald, what a tone! I don't recognize you."
"I don't even recognize myself," Archie replied with a grim grin.
"Is all this because of that vile article of Baines'? I assure you, no one remembers it. And you yourself have never been susceptible to criticism. What happened?"
"Criticism is truly indifferent to me, but a friendly remark, spoken at the wrong moment, framed, as you put it, as a 'vile article,' and delivered by the caring hand of the man on whom my fee and future work depended... I can bear a lot: even if everyone else thinks I am a fool, it only amuses me, but I hate it when I become a fool in my own eyes. You of all people should understand."
Robert patted his hand.
"I understand, I understand." My friend, promise you will come.
Archibald finally smiled.
"I promise. Are you invited too?"
"Unfortunately not. I have my hopes upon you."
"Aren't you asking too much of me, Robert?"
They both rose from the table and laughed. After seeing his guest to the door and making sure Robert hadn't forgotten his hat or cane, Archie listened to the parting words and said goodbye. The servant, who had spent all this time in the small room down the hall, emerged holding a pair of polished black shoes.
"Shall I send for a fresh boutonniere, sir?"
"It is still early. However, go ahead. Let them look for a white lily. If not, a white carnation will do."
"As you wish, sir."
"And get my evening suit ready."
"Very well, sir."
Archibald went into his study. He pulled out the drawers and looked through some old papers: several unfinished stories, poems, an unsuccessful translation from French. Among the folded sheets, colorful scraps, and torn pages rested a neatly folded copy of a literary newspaper. He didn't open it, but swept everything back into the drawers and, sitting at his empty desk, lit a cigarette.
"You were wonderful," he whispered to himself.
So far you can read in Russian here. With minor changes, as always.