BOLSHÓV. You'll see him in a minute; and then, perhaps, you'll recognize him.
AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. What are you listening to him for? What sort of a clown is coming? He's just talking to hear himself talk.
BOLSHÓV. I told you that he was coming; and I usually know what I'm talking about.
AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. If anybody were actually coming, then you'd be talking sense; but you keep saying he's coming, he's coming, but God knows who it is that's coming. It's always like that.
LÍPOCHKA. Well, in that case I'll stay, mamma. [She goes to the mirror and looks at herself. Then to her father] Daddy!
BOLSHÓV. What do you want?
LÍPOCHKA. I'm ashamed to tell you, daddy!
AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. Ashamed of what, you little fool? Speak out if you need anything.
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Shame isn't smoke—it won't eat out your eyes.
LÍPOCHKA. No, by heavens, I'm ashamed!