'Eh? What? What's Friday? What Friday?'
'Friday, your Ex—s—s—s—lency, the day of the week.'
'What, do you pretend to teach me, eh?'
Matvy Ilyitch was a higher official all the same, though he was reckoned a liberal.
'I advise you, my dear boy, to go and call on the Governor,' he said to Arkady; 'you understand, I don't advise you to do so because I adhere to old-fashioned ideas of the necessity of paying respect to authorities, but simply because the Governor's a very decent fellow; besides, you probably want to make acquaintance with the society here.... You're not a bear, I hope? And he's giving a great ball the day after to-morrow.'
'Will you be at the ball?' inquired Arkady.
'He gives it in my honour,' answered Matvy Ilyitch, almost pityingly. 'Do you dance?'
'Yes; I dance, but not well.'
'That's a pity! There are pretty girls here, and it's a disgrace for a young man not to dance. Again, I don't say that through any old-fashioned ideas; I don't in the least imagine that a man's wit lies in his feet, but Byronism is ridiculous, il a fait son temps.'
'But, uncle, it's not through Byronism, I ...'