“I have been cutting off dead branches, and digging up the flower-beds,” she replied, in a voice which was rather low, but agreeable and resonant.
“And are you tired?”
“The children are; I am not.”
“I know,”—interposed the old man, with a smile;—“thou art a regular Bobélina! And have you been to grandmamma’s?”
“Yes; she is asleep.”
“Are you fond of flowers?”—Vladímir Sergyéitch asked her.
“Yes.”
“Why dost thou not put on thy hat when thou goest out of doors?”—Ipátoff remarked to her.—“Just see how red and sunburned thou art.”
She silently passed her hand over her face. Her hands were not large, but rather broad, and decidedly red. She did not wear gloves.
“And are you fond of gardening?”—Vladímir Sergyéitch put another question to her.