"Yes, we have! Ribbon with a metal stripe, ottoman with a satin stripe, and satin with a moire stripe!"
"Oh, by the way, I mustn't forget, Olga asked me to get her a pair of stays!" says Polinka.
"There are tears in your eyes," says Nikolay Timofeitch in dismay. "What's that for? Come to the corset department, I'll screen you --it looks awkward."
With a forced smile and exaggeratedly free and easy manner, the shopman rapidly conducts Polinka to the corset department and conceals her from the public eye behind a high pyramid of boxes.
"What sort of corset may I show you?" he asks aloud, whispering immediately: "Wipe your eyes!"
"I want . . . I want . . . size forty-eight centimetres. Only she wanted one, lined . . . with real whalebone . . . I must talk to you, Nikolay Timofeitch. Come to-day!"
"Talk? What about? There's nothing to talk about."
"You are the only person who . . . cares about me, and I've no one to talk to but you."
"These are not reed or steel, but real whalebone. . . . What is there for us to talk about? It's no use talking. . . . You are going for a walk with him to-day, I suppose?"
"Yes; I . . . I am."
