Musa heard me out, without stirring from the spot, or looking at me again.
‘There’s something else I ought to tell you,’ she began, moving forward again along the path, ‘or else you may think I’m quite mad! I ought to tell you, that old man wants to marry me!’
‘What old man? The bald one? Punin?’
‘No—not he! The other ... Paramon Semyonitch.’
‘Baburin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it possible? Has he made you an offer?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t consent, of course?’
‘Yes, I did consent ... because I didn’t understand what I was about then. Now it’s a different matter.’