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“Perhaps you left a girl in the village?” she asked suddenly.

“Perhaps,” he responded surlily.

Inwardly he was abusing Malva.

“Is she pretty?” she asked with indifference.

Iakov made no reply.

“Why don’t you answer? Is she better looking than I, or no?”

He looked at her in spite of himself. Her cheeks were sunburnt and plump, her lips red and tempting and now, parted in a malicious smile, showing the white even teeth, they seemed to tremble. Her bust was full and firm under a pink cotton waist that set off to advantage her trim waist and well-rounded arms. But he did not like her green and cynical eyes.

“Why do you talk like that?” he asked.

He sighed without reason and spoke in a beseeching tone, yet he wanted to speak brutally to her.

“How shall I talk?” she asked laughing.

“There you are, laughing–at what?”

“At you–.”

“What have I done to you?” he said with irritation. And once more he lowered his eyes under her gaze.

She made no reply.

Iakov understood her relations towards his father perfectly well and that prevented him from expressing himself freely. He was not surprised. It would have been difficult for a man like his father to have been long without a companion.

“The soup is ready,” announced Vassili, at the threshold of the cabin. “Get the spoons, Malva.”

When she found the spoons she said she must go down to the sea to wash them.

The father and son watched her as she ran down the sands and both were silent.

“Where did you meet her?” asked Vassili, finally.

“I went to get news of you at the office. She was there. She said to me: ‘Why go on foot along the sand? Come in the boat. I’m going there.’ And so we started.”

“And–what do you think of her?”

“Not bad,” said Iakov, vaguely, blinking his eyes.

“What could I do?” asked Vassili. “I tried at first. But it was impossible. She mends my clothes and so on. Besides it’s as easy to escape from death as from a woman when once she’s after you.”

“What’s it to me?” said Iakov. “It’s your affair. I’m not your judge.”

Malva now returned with the spoons, and they sat down to dinner. They ate without talking, sucking the bones noisily and spitting them out on the sand, near the door. Iakov literally devoured his food, which seemed to please Malva vastly; she watched with tender interest his sunburnt cheeks extend and his thick humid lips moving quickly. Vassili was not hungry. He tried, however, to appear absorbed in the meal so as to be able to watch Malva and Iakov at his ease.

After awhile, when Iakov had eaten his fill he said he was sleepy.

“Lie down here,” said Vassili. “We’ll wake you up.”

“I’m willing,” said Iakov, sinking down on a coil of rope. “And what will you do?”

Embarrassed by his son’s smile, Vassili left the cabin hastily, Malva frowned and replied to Iakov:

“What’s that to you? Learn to mind your own business, my lad.”

Then she went out.

Iakov turned over and went to sleep.

Vassili had fixed three stakes in the sand, and with a piece of matting had rigged up a shelter from the sun. Then he lay down flat on his back and contemplated the sky. When Malva came up and dropped on the sand by his side he turned towards her with vexation plainly written on his face.

“Well, old man,” she said laughing, “you don’t seem pleased to see your son.”

“He mocks me. And why? Because of you,” replied Vassili testily.

“Oh, I am sorry. What can we do? I mustn’t come here again, eh? All right. I’ll not come again.”

“Siren that you are! Ah, you women! He mocks me and you too–and yet you are what I have dearest to me.”

He moved away from her and was silent. Squatting on the sand, with her legs drawn up to her chin, Malva balanced herself gently to and fro, idly gazing with her green eyes over the dazzling joyous sea, and she smiled with triumph as all women do when they understand the power of their beauty.