flattered. Bazarov was looking intently at her.
'By all means,' she said at last; and, bending down to the seat, she began picking over the roses. 'Which will you have—a red one or a white one?'
'Red, and not too large.'
She sat up again. 'Here, take it,' she said, but at once drew back her outstretched hand, and, biting her lips, looked towards the entrance of the arbour, then listened.
'What is it?' asked Bazarov. 'Nikolai Petrovitch?'
'No ... Mr. Kirsanov has gone to the fields ... besides, I'm not afraid of him ... but Pavel Petrovitch ... I fancied ...'
'What?'
'I fancied he was coming here. No ... it was no one. Take it.' Fenitchka gave Bazarov the rose.
'On what grounds are you afraid of Pavel Petrovitch?'
'He always scares me. And I know you don't like him. Do you remember, you always used to quarrel with him? I don't know what your quarrel was about, but I can see you turn him about like this and like that.'
Fenitchka showed with her hands how in her opinion Bazarov turned Pavel Petrovitch about.
