"Less noise, please—less noise, I beg of you, or we shall be heard, and I shall be put to shame!"
"Doesn't it put you to shame to be offering yourself to me like this?"
A silence ensues, save that the young fellow goes on snorting and fidgeting, and the raindrops continue to fall with the same reluctance, the same indolence, as ever. Then once more the woman's voice is heard through the pattering.
"Perhaps," says the voice, "you have guessed that I am seeking a husband? Yes, I AM seeking one—a good, steady muzhik."
"But I am NOT a good, steady muzhik."
"Fie, fie!"
"What?" he sniggers. "A husband for you? The impudence of you! A 'husband'! Go along!"
"Listen to me. I am tired of tramping."
"Then go home."
This time there ensues a long pause. Then the woman says very softly: