AFÓNYA. We didn't have anything to complain of, grandfather, before brother married. Grandfather, why does brother love his wife so?
ARKHÍP. Why shouldn't he love her? Why did he marry her? You should be happy because he loves his wife. What a foolish fellow you are!
AFÓNYA. No, I speak the truth. Formerly brother used to love you and me much more than now.
ARKHÍP. So you are jealous! Probably you are envious.
AFÓNYA. No, it isn't envy; but is my brother blind? Does she love him as he does her? Is she worthy of him? Why is he so servile in the presence of her and her kin? His servility offends me. Is he inferior to her and her sister? One marries a wife to have a helper; but she sits with folded hands. Brother alone works and dances attendance on them. I pity him.
ARKHÍP. What business is it of yours? It's his own choice. He works and doesn't force you to. You and I are fed by his kindness.
AFÓNYA. Don't I know that? Tell me, grandfather, is she any better than brother or not?
ARKHÍP. Better or not, she is of different sort.
AFÓNYA. What do you mean by "different sort"! As it is, brother is obliged to work for them, feed and clothe them, while they give themselves airs. There isn't a better man in the world than brother, and they have made him their drudge.
ARKHÍP. How do you know? Your brother himself may not wish her to work.