“Will you have some tea?” put in Madesha (another servant).
“No, thank you.—But why does he hate me so, that old thief of an uncle of yours? Why? Is it because of the clothes I wear, or of my height, or of my walk, or what? Well, damn and confound him!” finished Basil, snapping his fingers.
“We must be patient,” said Masha, threading her needle.
“You are so—”
“It is my nerves that won’t stand it, that’s all.”
At this moment the door of Grandmamma’s room banged, and Gasha’s angry voice could be heard as she came up the stairs.
“There!” she muttered with a gesture of her hands. “Try to please people when even they themselves do not know what they want, and it is a cursed life—sheer hard labour, and nothing else! If only a certain thing would happen!—though God forgive me for thinking it!”
“Good evening, Agatha Michaelovna,” said Basil, rising to greet her.
“You here?” she answered brusquely as she stared at him, “That is not very much to your credit. What do you come here for? Is the maids’ room a proper place for men?”
“I wanted to see how you were,” said Basil soothingly.