DUNYASHA. Very well. [Exit.]
EPIKHODOV. There’s a frost this morning—three degrees, and the cherry-trees are all in flower. I can’t approve of our climate. [Sighs] I can’t. Our climate is indisposed to favour us even this once. And, Ermolai Alexeyevitch, allow me to say to you, in addition, that I bought myself some boots two days ago, and I beg to assure you that they squeak in a perfectly unbearable manner. What shall I put on them?
LOPAKHIN. Go away. You bore me.
EPIKHODOV. Some misfortune happens to me every day. But I don’t complain; I’m used to it, and I can smile. [DUNYASHA comes in and brings LOPAKHIN some kvass] I shall go. [Knocks over a chair] There.... [Triumphantly] There, you see, if I may use the word, what circumstances I am in, so to speak. It is even simply marvellous. [Exit.]
DUNYASHA. I may confess to you, Ermolai Alexeyevitch, that Epikhodov has proposed to me.
LOPAKHIN. Ah!
DUNYASHA. I don’t know what to do about it. He’s a nice young man, but every now and again, when he begins talking, you can’t understand a word he’s saying. I think I like him. He’s madly in love with me. He’s an unlucky man; every day something happens. We tease him about it. They call him “Two-and-twenty troubles.”
LOPAKHIN. [Listens] There they come, I think.
DUNYASHA. They’re coming! What’s the matter with me? I’m cold all over.
LOPAKHIN. There they are, right enough. Let’s go and meet them. Will she know me? We haven’t seen each other for five years.