[Glasha comes in.
GLASHA. Marfa Ignatievna, lunch is served!
MME. KABANOVA. Well, old friend, come in! Have a taste of what God has sent us!
DIKOY. Much obliged.
MME. KABANOVA. Pray walk in. (Ushers Dikoy in front and follows him in. Glasha, folding her arms, stands at the gates.)
GLASHA. If that isn't Boris Grigoritch coming. Sure now he's not after his uncle? Or may be, just out for a stroll—to be sure, out for a stroll, he must be. [Enter Boris.