'In the first place, you must call me Zinaida Alexandrovna, and in the second place it's a bad habit for children' – (she corrected herself) 'for young people – not to say straight out what they feel. That's all very well for grown-up people. You like me, don't you?'
Though I was greatly delighted that she talked so freely to me, still I was a little hurt.
I wanted to show her that she had not a mere boy to deal with, and assuming as easy and serious an air as I could, I observed, 'Certainly.
I like you very much, Zinaida Alexandrovna; I have no wish to conceal it.'
She shook her head very deliberately. 'Have you a tutor?' she asked suddenly.
'No; I've not had a tutor for a long, long while.'
I told a lie; it was not a month since I had parted with my Frenchman.
'Oh! I see then – you are quite grown-up.'
She tapped me lightly on the fingers. 'Hold your hands straight!' And she applied herself busily to winding the ball.
I seized the opportunity when she was looking down and fell to watching her, at first stealthily, then more and more boldly.