Tánya. It's you I want, Theodore Ivánitch, dear....
Theodore Ivánitch. Well, what is it?
Tánya. About that affair of mine as I spoke of.
Theodore Ivánitch (laughs). I've made the match; yes, I've made the match. The matter is settled; we have shaken hands on it, only not had a drink on it.
Tánya (with a shriek). Never! So it's all right?
Theodore Ivánitch. Don't I tell you so? He says, "I shall consult the missus, and then, God willing...."
Tánya. Is that what he said? (Shrieks.) Dear Theodore Ivánitch, I'll pray for you all the days of my life!
Theodore Ivánitch. All right! All right! Now is not the time. I've been ordered to arrange the room for the séance.
Tánya. Let me help you. How's it to be arranged?
Theodore Ivánitch. How? Why, the table in the middle of the room—chairs—the guitar—the accordion. The lamp is not wanted, only candles.