Màrya. Really, brother, how should I know?... (Casts down her eyes.)
Antìp. How should you know? Well, anyway, Matryòna knows; I say, Matryòna, don’t you think I’m right? Best have a shopkeeper, eh?
Matryòna. It’s always the same talk with you.
Stepanìda. He’s quite right, Màsha, my girl. At least there’s some one worth kissing.
Màrya. Mamma! How can you! I declare I shall go away! Come, sister! (Runs out of the room, Matryòna follows her.)
Antìp. Oho! my lass; it’s not much use to run away.
Stepanìda. You made her bashful, Antìpoushka; she’s only a girl, you see.
Antìp. Well, I don’t mind if it’s a merchant. Give her to a merchant, you may as well.
Stepanìda (Moves nearer to him and speaks softly). By the bye, Antìpoushka, I heard from neighbour Terèntyevna that Paramòn Ferapòntych thinks of marrying again, and is looking for a wife. That’s a chance we oughtn’t to miss, you know. Of course I know he’s getting old, and a widower, and all that; but he has plenty of money, Antìpoushka—heaps of money. And then, you know, he’s respectable and religious, and a capital business man.
Antìp. Ye—es, mamma; only he’s an awful cheat.