I went out of the study, and I don’t know what answer Orlov received.  Whatever it was, Polya remained.  After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her services.  When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered.

I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling about any explanations.  He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent people.  But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost irrational.  I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, it would be certain not to please Orlov.  When on coming in from shopping she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the flat, the less airy it would be.  It sometimes happened that after putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and remain at home from sheer perversity.  I used to think that he remained at home then simply in order to feel injured.

“Why are you staying?” said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, though at the same time she was radiant with delight.  “Why do you?  You are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don’t want you to alter your habits on my account.  Do go out as usual, if you don’t want me to feel guilty.”

“No one is blaming you,” said Orlov.

With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book.  But soon the book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again screened his eyes as though from the sun.  Now he felt annoyed that he had not gone out.

“May I come in?” Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into the study.  “Are you reading?  I felt dull by myself, and have come just for a minute . . . to have a peep at you.”

I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov’s feet, and from her soft, timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and was afraid.

“You are always reading . . .” she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to flatter him.  “Do you know, George, what is one of the secrets of your success?  You are very clever and well-read.  What book have you there?”

Orlov answered.  A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me very long.  I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch them, and was afraid of coughing.

“There is something I wanted to tell you,” said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and she laughed; “shall I?  Very likely you’ll laugh and say that I flatter myself.  You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying at home to-night for my sake . . . that we might spend the evening together.  Yes?  May I think so?”