Katya made a slight curtsey, placed herself beside her sister, and began picking out flowers. The greyhound, whose name was Fifi, went up to both of the visitors, in turn wagging his tail, and thrusting his cold nose into their hands.
'Did you pick all that yourself?' asked Madame Odintsov.
'Yes,' answered Katya.
'Is auntie coming to tea?'
'Yes.'
When Katya spoke, she had a very charming smile, sweet, timid, and candid, and looked up from under her eyebrows with a sort of humorous severity. Everything about her was still young and undeveloped; the voice, and the bloom on her whole face, and the rosy hands, with white palms, and the rather narrow shoulders.... She was constantly blushing and getting out of breath.
Madame Odintsov turned to Bazarov. 'You are looking at pictures from politeness, Yevgeny Vassilyitch,' she began. That does not interest you. You had better come nearer to us, and let us have a discussion about something.'
Bazarov went closer. 'What subject have you decided upon for discussion?' he said.
'What you like. I warn you, I am dreadfully argumentative.'
'You?'
