"And is he clean?" asked Valeria; she pronounced the word "clean" rather contemptuously.
"A lot you understand," said Liudmilla, and again began to speak quietly and pensively. "He's quite innocent."
Darya smiled.
"Oh, is he?" said Darya ironically.
"The best age for a boy is fourteen or fifteen. He doesn't understand anything and yet he has a kind of intuition. And he hasn't a disgusting beard."
"A wonderful pleasure!" said Valeria with a contemptuous grimace.
She was feeling sad. It seemed to her that she was small, weak and frail, and she envied her sisters—she envied Darya her gay laughter and even Liudmilla's tears. Liudmilla said again:
"You don't understand anything. I don't love him at all as you think. To love a boy is better than to fall in love with a commonplace face with moustaches. I love him innocently. I don't want anything from him."
"If you don't want anything from him, why do you torment him?" said Darya harshly.
Liudmilla grew red and a guilty expression came on to her face. Darya took pity on her; she walked up to Liudmilla, put her arms round her and said: