“Are you going to be married soon?” he asked.
She did not answer, but turned away with a stern look.
“Do you love Lukáshka?”
“What’s that to you?”
“I envy him!”
“Very likely!”
“No really. You are so beautiful!”
And he suddenly felt terribly ashamed of having said it, so commonplace did the words seem to him. He flushed, lost control of himself, and seized both her hands.
“Whatever I am, I’m not for you. Why do you make fun of me?” replied Maryánka, but her look showed how certainly she knew he was not making fun.
“Making fun? If you only knew how I—”