Sasha had promised to come. The appointed hour had passed by and Sasha had not arrived. Liudmilla waited impatiently—she fidgeted about and felt distressed and looked out of the window. Whenever she heard steps in the street she put her head out of the window. Her sisters teased her. She said angrily:
"Let me alone!"
Then she threw herself stormily at them with reproaches, because they laughed at her. It was already evident that Sasha would not come. Liudmilla cried with vexation and disappointment.
Darya continued to tease her.
Liudmilla spoke quietly between her sobs, and in the midst of her distress she forgot to be angry with them:
"That detestable old hag wouldn't let him come. She keeps him tied to apron strings to make him learn Greek."
"Yes, and he's a hobbledehoy, because he couldn't get away," said Darya with rough sympathy.
"She has tied herself up with a child," said Valeria contemptuously. Both sisters, though they laughed, sympathised with Liudmilla. They loved each other, and they loved tenderly but not strongly: a superficial, tender love. Darya said:
"Why are you crying? Why should you weep your eyes out for a young milksop? Well, you might say that the devil has bound himself to an infant!"