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swallowed eagerly the unusual praise of her
beauty.
She would have liked to know what her sister
thought of all this, and if she herself would
indeed become good-looking some day. So
when they were going to bed that evening she
said, ‘What funny things Fedor Michajlovitsch
was saying to-day!’—trying to look as
unconcerned as possible.
‘What do you mean?’ Aniuta asked; she had
evidently forgotten the whole conversation.
‘Oh well, that about the gipsy-eyes, and about
my being good-looking,’ says Tania, blushing
deeply.
Aniuta turns her graceful neck and looks at
Tania with a sly, expressive glance.
‘So you fancy Fedor Michajlovitsch thinks you
good-looking, better looking than me?’ she asks.
The wonderful mysterious smile in Aniuta’s
green eyes, and her fair flowing curls, make her
look like a mermaid. In the large looking-glass
opposite the bed, Tania sees her own little dark
person beside that of her sister. It would be a
great mistake to say that she feels satisfied with
the comparison, but her sister’s cold self-complacent
tone irritates her, and she says with some temper —
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