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"How is mamma?" he asked, passing his hand over his daughter's

smooth, soft little neck. "Good morning," he said, smiling to the

boy, who had come up to greet him. He was conscious that he loved

the boy less, and always tried to be fair; but the boy felt it,

and did not respond with a smile to his father's chilly smile.

"Mamma? She is up," answered the girl.

Stepan Arkadyevitch sighed. "That means that she's not slept

again all night," he thought.

"Well, is she cheerful?"

The little girl knew that there was a quarrel between her father

and mother, and that her mother could not be cheerful, and that

her father must be aware of this, and that he was pretending when

he asked about it so lightly. And she blushed for her father. He

at once perceived it, and blushed too.

"I don't know," she said. "She did not say we must do our

lessons, but she said we were to go for a walk with Miss Hoole to

grandmamma's."