“That is a neighbour, Astákhoff, Vladímir Sergyéevitch, you know, the owner of Sásovo. I’ll introduce him if you like, shall I?”
“Very well ... afterward. Akh, what splendid weather!”—she went on.—“Egór Kapítonitch, tell me—can it be possible that Matryóna Márkovna growls even in such weather as this?”
“Matryóna Márkovna never grumbles in any sort of weather, madam; and she is merely strict on the score of manners....”
“And what are the Biriúloff girls doing? They know all about it the next day, don’t they?...” And she burst into a ringing, silvery laugh.
“You are pleased to laugh constantly,”—returned Egór Kapítonitch.—“However, when should a person laugh, if not at your age?”
“Egór Kapítonitch, don’t get angry, my dear man! Akh, I’m tired; allow me to sit down....”
Nadézhda Alexyéevna dropped into an arm-chair, and playfully pulled her hat down over her very eyes.
Ipátoff led Vladímir Sergyéitch up to her.
“Permit me, Nadézhda Alexyéevna, to present to you our neighbour, Mr. Astákhoff, of whom you have, probably, heard a great deal.”
Vladímir Sergyéitch made his bow, while Nadézhda Alexyéevna looked up at him from under the brim of her round hat.