"No, I shall win the twenty thousand," argued Peredonov.
"I shall be in one drawing and you'll be in another," said Vershina.
"You're lying," said Peredonov angrily. "Who ever heard of two people winning at once in the same town. I tell you I'm going to win it."
Vershina noticed that he was angry. She ceased to argue. She opened the gate to entice him in and said:
"There's no reason for you to stand there. Come in, Mourin's here."
Mourin's name recalled something pleasant to Peredonov—drink and zakouska. He entered.
In the drawing-room, darkened by the trees outside, sat Marta, looking very happy, with a red sash on and with a kerchief round her neck, Mourin, more unkempt than usual, and very cheerful for some reason or other, and a grown-up schoolboy, Vitkevitch. He paid attentions to Vershina, and imagined that she was in love with him: he thought of leaving the school, marrying Vershina and managing her estate.
Mourin met Peredonov with exaggeratedly cordial exclamations, his expression became even gayer and his little eyes looked fat—all this did not go with his stout figure and untidy hair in which even some whisps of straw could be seen.
"I'm attending to business," he said loudly and hoarsely. "I've business everywhere, and here these charming ladies are spoiling me with tea."
"Business?" replied Peredonov gruffly. "What sort of business have you got? You are not in Government Service and you've got money coming in. Now I have business."