not losing her out of his sight a single instant, although he did not look at her. He felt that the sun was shining nearer to him. She was at one corner and came gliding toward him, putting together her slender feet in high boots, and evidently feeling a little timid. A boy in Russian costume was clumsily trying to get ahead of her, desperately waving his arms and bending far forward. Kitty herself did not skate with much confidence. She had taken her hands out of her little muff, suspended by a ribbon, and held them ready to grasp the first object that came in her way. Looking at Levin, whom she had recognized, she smiled at him and at her own timidity. As soon as this evolution was finished, she struck out with her elastic little foot, and skated up to Shcherbatsky, seized him by the arm, and gave Levin a friendly welcome. She was more charming even than he had imagined her to be.
Whenever he thought of her, he could easily recall her whole appearance, but especially the charm of her small blond head, set so gracefully on her pretty shoulders, and her expression of childlike frankness and goodness. The combination of childlike grace and delicate beauty of form was her special charm, and Levin thoroughly appreciated it. But what struck him like something always new and unexpected was the look in her sweet eyes, her calm and sincere face, and her smile, which transported him to a world of enchantment, where he felt at peace and at rest, as he remembered occasionally feeling in the days of his early childhood.
"Have you been here long?" she asked, giving him her hand.
"Thank you," she added, as he picked up her handkerchief, which had dropped out of her muff.
"I? No, not long; I came yesterday ... that is, to-day," answered Levin, so agitated that at first he did not get the drift of her question. "I wanted to call upon you," said he; and when he remembered what his errand was, he grew red, and was more distressed than ever. "I did not know that you skated, and so well."
