Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only
just come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a
sheet and a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on
her head he could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There
was the cool damp smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still
hanging about her. She was out of breath from running quickly. The
top button of her blouse was undone, so that the boy saw her throat
and bosom.

"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and
down. "It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What
a clumsy seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying
nothing, thinking like some philosopher. There's not a spark of
life or fire in you! You are really horrid! . . . At your age you
ought to be living, skipping, and jumping, chattering, flirting,
falling in love."

Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand,
and thought. . . .

"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really. . . .
Listen! Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid
philosopher!" she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are
such a clumsy seal? Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies.
Why don't you? It's true there are no girls here, but there is
nothing to prevent your flirting with the married ladies! Why don't
you flirt with me, for instance?"

Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful