“How do they call you, ducky dear?”
“George,” answered Petrov in a hoarse, cadet’s bass.
“Jorjik Jorochka! Ah, how very nice!”
She suddenly drew near to his ear and whispered with a cunning face:
“Jorochka, come to me.”
Petrov was abashed and forlornly let out in a bass:
“I don’t know ... It all depends on what the comrade says, now...”
Verka burst into loud laughter:
“There’s a case for you! Say, what an infant it is! Such as you, Jorochka, in a little village would long since have been married; but he says: ‘It all depends on the comrade!’ You ought to ask a nurse or a wet nurse yet! Tamara, my angel, just imagine: I’m calling him to go sleeping, but he says: ‘It all depends on the comrade.’ What about you, mister friend, are you his bringer up?”
“Don’t be pestering, you devil!” clumsily, altogether like a cadet before a quarrel, grumbled out Petrov in a bass.