"It's impossible to have such an attitude to a serious matter," she says. "When our daughter's happiness is concerned, we must put everything personal aside. I know you don't like him.... Very well.... But if we refuse him now and upset everything, how can you guarantee that Liza won't have a grievance against us for the rest of her life? Heaven knows there aren't many young men nowadays. It's quite likely there won't be another chance. He loves Liza very much and she likes him, evidently. Of course he hasn't a settled position. But what is there to do? Please God, he'll get a position in time. He comes of a good family, and he's rich."
"How did you find that out?"
"He said so himself. His father has a big house in Kharkov and an estate outside. You must certainly go to Kharkov."
"Why?"
"You'll find out there. You have acquaintances among the professors there. I'd go myself. But I'm a woman. I can't."
"I will not go to Kharkov," I say morosely.
My wife gets frightened; a tormented expression comes over her face.
"For God's sake, Nicolai Stiepanich," she implores, sobbing, "For God's sake help me with this burden! It hurts me."
It is painful to look at her.
"Very well, Varya," I say kindly, "If you like—very well I'll go to Kharkov, and do everything you want."