USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. My! how you're dolled up—that dress certainly makes you look better. You didn't make it yourself, did you?
LÍPOCHKA. Horrible need I had of making it! Why, do you think we're beggars? What are dressmakers for?
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Beggars, the idea! Who's saying anything so foolish to you? They can tell from your house-keeping that you didn't make it yourself. However, your dress is a fright.
LÍPOCHKA. What's the matter with you? Have you lost your wits? Where are your eyes? What gave you that wild notion?
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. What are you getting on your high horse for?
LÍPOCHKA. Nonsense! Think I'll stand such rubbish? What, am I an uncultivated hussy!
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. What are you taking on so for? Where did such a caprice come from? Am I finding fault with your dress? Why, isn't it a dress?—and anybody will say it's a dress. But it isn't becoming to you; it's absolutely not the right thing for your style of beauty—blot out my soul if I lie. For you a gold one would be little enough; let's have one embroidered with seed-pearls. Ah! there you smile, my jewel! You see, I know what I'm talking about!
TISHKA. [Entering] Sysóy Psoich wants me to ask whether he, says he, can come in. He's out there with Lázar Elizárych.
BOLSHÓV. March! Call him in here with Lázar.
TISHKA goes out.