"Do you seriously mean to say that you do not?" asked the girl, laughing.
"I'm afraid I cannot recall her name, though I believe I have seen the face somewhere; one does not take special notice of children; I cannot imagine why she should be any one in particular, as that little fool declared. Of course one knows every one who is any body! Well, who is she?"
"First tell me, do you consider her pretty?"
"Passable—but of course a mere child; she may improve and may go the other way. She's Russian, of course?"
"Certainly, but has been absent from Russia for five years. Her clothes are of the last French mode—she has French relations—have I shed light liberally enough to illuminate your intelligence?"
"She is Vera Demidof, you mean; I did not know she had returned. Well, she has come too soon, she is a child, I will say neither yes nor no to her until I can judge of her when full grown." Sasha flushed and looked aggrieved. His companion laughed.
"You are not a very ardent fiancé," she said. "Remember, it is your duty to love her; she will expect to be greeted radiantly, to hear words of endearment, delight at her unexpected return, and so forth; compose your features, my friend, you are frowning; look pleased, ardent, full of affection, and so go and do your duty."
"You speak foolishly; it is not for you to bid me perform this foolery, you who know that my heart contains but one image. You must be aware that my betrothal is a mere farce, a thing to be shaken off as easily as assumed. I shall speak to the girl—courtesy demands it, but I shall pretend no affection."
"Poor child, she will be heart-broken; see how lovingly she gazes at you even now!"
Sasha looked, but Vera's gaze did not strike him as being aptly described by the word "loving"; on the contrary, though she turned her head when she observed that she was watched, he was in time to surprise what appeared to him to be an indignant rather than a languishing expression.