Vladya ran off and they could hear the sand crunching under his feet. Vershina gave a quick, cautious side-glance at Peredonov through the clouds of cigarette smoke she was ceaselessly puffing out. Peredonov sat solemnly and gazed straight in front in a befogged sort of way and chewed a caramel. He felt pleased because the others had gone—otherwise they might have laughed again. Though he was quite certain that they had not been laughing at him, the annoyance remained—just as after contact with stinging nettles the pain remains and increases even though the nettles are left behind.
"Why don't you get married?" said Vershina very abruptly, "What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch. You must forgive me if I speak frankly, but Varvara is not good enough for you."
Peredonov passed his hand over his slightly ruffled chestnut-brown hair and announced with a surly dignity:
"There is no one here good enough for me!"
"Don't say that," replied Vershina, with a wry smile. "There are plenty of girls better than she is here and every one of them would marry you."
She knocked the ash off her cigarette with a decisive movement as if she were emphasising her remark with an exclamation point.
"Everyone wouldn't suit me," retorted Peredonov.
"We're not discussing everyone," said Vershina quickly, "you're not the kind of man who'd run after a dot if the girl were a fine girl. You yourself earn quite enough, thank God."
"No," replied Peredonov, "it would be more of an advantage for me to marry Varvara. The Princess has promised her patronage. She will give me a good billet," he went on with grave animation.
Vershina smiled faintly. Her entire wrinkled face, dark as if saturated with tobacco smoke, expressed a condescending incredulousness. She asked: