Shiryàlov. Can’t, little mother, can’t, indeed. (Bows.)
Stepanìda. As you like; but there’s plenty more.
Shiryàlov. Can’t, really. (Rises and bows.)
Stepanìda. Dàrya, clear away the tea. (Dàrya enters, clears away tea, and goes out). Good-bye, little father.
Shiryàlov. Good-bye, little mother. (They kiss.)
Stepanìda. Don’t forget to look in on us.
Shiryàlov. Always a pleasure, ma’am; always a pleasure.
Antìp. I say, mamma, let’s have some brandy in; and a bite of something, and a bottle of Madeira, or something of that kind. Let’s have a drink, neighbour, eh?
Shiryàlov. Eh! Antìp Antìpych, that would be too much trouble.
Antìp. Not a bit of it; there’s no trouble. (Stepanìda goes out.)