“I did not notice him following me,” she said timidly. “I just looked in.”
Holding his little girl with one arm, Nicholas glanced at his wife and, seeing her guilty expression, put his other arm around her and kissed her hair.
“May I kiss Mamma?” he asked Natásha.
Natásha smiled bashfully.
“Again!” she commanded, pointing with a peremptory gesture to the spot where Nicholas had placed the kiss.
“I don’t know why you think I am cross,” said Nicholas, replying to the question he knew was in his wife’s mind.
“You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like that. It always seems to me...”
“Mary, don’t talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” he said gaily.
“It seems to be that you can’t love me, that I am so plain... always... and now... in this cond...”
“Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty. It is only Malvínas and women of that kind who are loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don’t love her, but... I don’t know how to put it. Without you, or when something comes between us like this, I seem lost and can’t do anything. Now do I love my finger? I don’t love it, but just try to cut it off!”