AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. We'd about given you up.
LÍPOCHKA. Well, Ustinya Naúmovna, will he come soon?
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. It's my fault, I own up at once; it's my fault! But our affairs, my jewels, aren't in a very good way.
LÍPOCHKA. How! What do you mean by that?
AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. Now what new notion have you got?
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Why, my pearls, our suitor is wavering.
BOLSHÓV. Ha, ha, ha! You're a great go-between! How are you going to make a match?
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. He's like a balky horse, he won't whoa nor giddup. You can't get a sensible word out of him.
LÍPOCHKA. But what's this, Ustinya Naúmovna? What do you mean, really?
AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. Holy saints! How can it be!