“You—you might mean—that you are suspicious of me, and that would make me feel sad.”
She stood, as if half intending to flee from the room, and observing him in wonderment.
“Suspicious! Why should you be under suspicion?”
“Everybody is under suspicion—no one trusts another here,” she replied.
“No doubt you have suspicions of me—because I speak Russian,” he countered.
“I am not sure of you,” she said frankly. “What have I but your coat to prove that you are an American officer?”
“You have no more than I have to prove that you are a samovar girl. Oh, come now! Let us not play with words! What did Zorogoff say when he learned that the American officer speaks good Russian?”
She straightened up suddenly and her body seemed to grow rigid. He heard the hiss of her breath, and then an hysterical laugh came gurgling from her lips.
“So that is it!” she cried. “You think I am a spy for Zorogoff!”
There was no mistaking the revulsion which she felt. Peter knew now that she was sincere.