Of course, I had not expected anything particular, but Zinaida's composure was like a bucket of cold water thrown over me.
I realised that in her eyes I was a child, and was extremely miserable! Zinaida walked up and down the room, giving me a quick smile, whenever she caught my eye, but her thoughts were far away, I saw that clearly...
'Shall I begin about what happened yesterday myself,' I pondered; 'ask her, where she was hurrying off so fast, so as to find out once for all' ... but with a gesture of despair, I merely went and sat down in a corner.
Byelovzorov came in; I felt relieved to see him.
'I've not been able to find you a quiet horse,' he said in a sulky voice; 'Freitag warrants one, but I don't feel any confidence in it, I am afraid.'
'What are you afraid of?' said Zinaida; 'allow me to inquire?'
'What am I afraid of? Why, you don't know how to ride. Lord save us, what might happen! What whim is this has come over you all of a sudden?'
'Come, that's my business, Sir Wild Beast. In that case I will ask Piotr Vassilievitch.' ... (My father's name was Piotr Vassilievitch. I was surprised at her mentioning his name so lightly and freely, as though she were confident of his readiness to do her a service.)
'Oh, indeed,' retorted Byelovzorov, 'you mean to go out riding with him then?'
'With him or with some one else is nothing to do with you. Only not with you, anyway.'