A drawing-room in CHUBUKOV’S house. [LOMOV enters, wearing a dress-jacket and white gloves. CHUBUKOV rises to meet him.] CHUBUKOV. My dear fellow, whom do I see! Ivan Vassilevitch! I am extremely glad! [Squeezes his hand] Now this is a surprise, my darling... How are you? LOMOV. Thank you. And how may you be getting on? CHUBUKOV. We just get along somehow, my angel, to your prayers, and so on. Sit down, please do.... Now, you know, you shouldn’t forget all about your neighbours, my darling. My dear fellow, why are you so formal in your get-up? Evening dress, gloves, and so on. Can you be going anywhere, my treasure? LOMOV. No, I’ve come only to see you, honoured Stepan Stepanovitch. CHUBUKOV. Then why are you in evening dress, my precious? As if you’re paying a New Year’s Eve visit! LOMOV. Well, you see, it’s like this. [Takes his arm] I’ve come to you, honoured Stepan Stepanovitch, to trouble you with a request. Not once or twice have I already had the privilege of applying to you for help, and you have always, so to speak... I must ask your pardon, I am getting excited. I shall drink some water, honoured Stepan Stepanovitch. [Drinks.] CHUBUKOV. [Aside] He’s come to borrow money! Shan’t give him any! [Aloud] What is it, my beauty? LOMOV. You see, Honour Stepanitch... I beg pardon, Stepan Honouritch... I mean, I’m awfully excited, as you will please notice.... In short, you alone can help me, though I don’t deserve it, of course... and haven’t any right to count on your assistance.... CHUBUKOV. Oh, don’t go round and round it, darling! Spit it out! Well? LOMOV. One moment... this very minute. The fact is, I’ve come to ask the hand of your daughter, Natalya Stepanovna, in marriage. CHUBUKOV. [Joyfully] By Jove! Ivan Vassilevitch! Say it again--I didn’t hear it all! LOMOV. I have the honour to ask... CHUBUKOV. [Interrupting] My dear fellow... I’m so glad, and so on.... Yes, indeed, and all that sort of thing. [Embraces and kisses LOMOV] I’ve been hoping for it for a long time. It’s been my continual desire. [Sheds a tear] And I’ve always loved you, my angel, as if you were my own son. May God give you both His help and His love and so on, and I did so much hope... What am I behaving in this idiotic way for? I’m off my balance with joy, absolutely off my balance! Oh, with all my soul... I’ll go and call Natasha, and all that. LOMOV. [Greatly moved] Honoured Stepan Stepanovitch, do you think I may count on her consent? CHUBUKOV. Why, of course, my darling, and... as if she won’t consent! She’s in love; egad, she’s like a love-sick cat, and so on.... Shan’t be long! [Exit.]