“Is she a daughter of his, then?”
“I'll tell you all about it,” said Pavel, licking his lips with pleasure. “May I smoke a cigarette? Now, you see, men like Fedosie Petrovitch Zachlebnikoff are much valued in the State; but, excepting for a few perquisites allowed them, the pay is wretched; they live well enough, but they cannot possibly lay by money. Now, imagine, this man has eight daughters and only one little boy: if he were to die there would be nothing but a wretched little pension to keep the lot of them. Just imagine now—boots alone for such a family, eh? Well, out of these eight girls five are marriageable, the eldest is twenty-four already (a splendid girl, she is, you shall see her for yourself). The sixth is a girl of fifteen, still at school. Well, all those five elder girls have to be trotted about and shown off, and what does all that sort of thing cost the poor father, sir? They must be married. Then suddenly I appear on the scene—the first probable bridegroom in the family, and they all know that I have money. Well, there you are, sir—the thing's done.”
Pavel Pavlovitch was intoxicated with enthusiasm.
“Are you engaged to the eldest?”
“N—no;—not the eldest. I am wooing the sixth girl, the one at school.”
“What?” cried Velchaninoff, laughing in spite of himself. “Why, you say yourself she's only fifteen years old.”
“Fifteen now, sir; but she'll be sixteen in nine months—sixteen and three months—so why not? It wouldn't be quite nice to make the engagement public just yet, though; so there's to be nothing formal at present, it's only a private arrangement between the parents and myself so far. Believe me, my dear sir, the whole thing is apple-pie, regular and charming.”
“Then it isn't quite settled yet?”
“Oh, quite settled—quite settled. Believe me, it's all as right and tight as——”
“Does she know?”