Instead of an answer Smolin burst into a rich, but indifferent and cold laughter, and then said:
“Oh, don’t say that.”
The old man shuddered at his laughter, and started back with fright, with a scarcely perceptible movement of his body. After Smolin’s words all three maintained silence for about a minute.
“Yes,” said Mayakin, without lifting his head, which was bent low. “It is necessary to think of that. I must think of it.” Then, raising his head, he closely scrutinised his daughter and the bridegroom, and, rising from his chair, he said sternly and brusquely: “I am going away for awhile to my little cabinet. You surely won’t feel lonesome without me.”
And he went out with bent back and drooping head, heavily scraping with his feet.
The young people, thus left alone, exchanged a few empty phrases, and, evidently conscious that these only helped to remove them further from each other, they maintained a painful, awkward and expectant silence. Taking an orange, Lubov began to peel it with exaggerated attention, while Smolin, lowering his eyes, examined his moustaches, which he carefully stroked with his left hand, toyed with a knife and suddenly asked the girl in a lowered voice:
“Pardon me for my indiscretion. It is evidently really difficult for you, Lubov Yakovlevna, to live with your father. He’s a man with old-fashioned views and, pardon me, he’s rather hard-hearted!”
Lubov shuddered, and, casting at the red-headed man a grateful look, said:
“It isn’t easy, but I have grown accustomed to it. He also has his good qualities.”
“Oh, undoubtedly! But to you who are so young, beautiful and educated, to you with your views... You see, I have heard something about you.”