She rolled another cigarette between her nicotine-stained fingers, licked it, placed it between her lips, and struck a match. The servant entered with a tray.
"Ah! Here comes luncheon! Will you have some? Victor, pray uncork the bottle. It is your function to do so."
"Mine, yes, mine," he hummed; then gave another of his shrill giggles.
"Have you any good-looking ladies in this town?" Bazarov asked after a third glassful of champagne.
"Yes," replied Evdoksia. "But uniformly they are futile. For example, a friend of mine, a Madame Odintsov, is not bad-looking, and has nothing against her except a doubtful reputation (a thing of no consequence in itself); but, alas! she combines with it such a complete lack of freedom, or of breadth of view, or, in fact, of anything! The system of bringing up women needs a radical change. I myself have given much thought to the matter, and come to the conclusion that our women are ill-educated."
"Yes; the only thing to be done with them is to hold them in contempt," agreed Sitnikov. To him any opportunity of despising, of expressing scornful sentiments, was the most agreeable of sensations. Yet, though he thus chose women for his especial censure, he little suspected that before many months were over he himself would be grovelling at the feet of a wife—and doing so merely for the reason that she had been born a Princess Durdoleosov!
"No, to none of them would our conversation convey anything," he continued. "Nor is there a single one of them upon whom the attention of a serious-minded man would be anything but thrown away."
"Scarcely need they desire to have anything conveyed to them by our conversation," remarked Bazarov.
"Of whom are you speaking?" interposed Evdoksia.
"Of the smart women of the day."