“If you,” said he, turning to Zavilovski, “pay such homage to sincerity, it is sitting before you! You have here a real type of it.”
“I know that! I know that!” said Zavilovski, with warmth.
“But is it thy wish to have me otherwise?” inquired Marynia, laughing.
He laughed also, and answered: “No, I would not. But, by the way, what a happiness it is that thou are not too small, and hast no need of heels; for shouldst thou wear them, chronic inflammation of the conscience would strike thee for deceiving people.”
Marynia, seeing that Zavilovski’s eyes were turned toward her feet, hid them under the table involuntarily, and, changing the subject, said,—
“But your volume is coming out these days, I think?”
“It would have been published already, but I added one poem; that causes delay.”
“And may we know what the poem is called?”
“Lilia” (Lily).
“Is it not Lilia-Lineta?”