‘And is she a good worker?’
‘Such a girl to work ... such a girl, sir ... ay ... ay ... to be sure she is.’
Ivan Afanasiitch thought it discreet not to pursue the subject of the niece further.
‘What bird is that you have in the cage, Praskovia Ivanovna?’
‘God knows. A bird of some sort.’
‘H’m! Well, so, good day to you, Praskovia Ivanovna.’
‘A very good day to your honour. Pray walk in another time, and take a cup of tea.’
‘With the greatest pleasure, Praskovia Ivanovna.’
Pyetushkov walked out. On the steps he met Vassilissa. She giggled.
‘Where are you going, my darling?’ said Pyetushkov with reckless daring.