_Arìna._ Sit down, sit down, Alexièy Dmìtrievich; we’ve no wool to sell, but we’re glad to see you; please sit down. (_All sit down; silence._) _Yaìch._ It’s very strange weather to-day. Early in the morning it looked quite like rain, but now it seems to have gone over. _Agàfia._ Yes, indeed, this weather is quite extraordinary; sometimes it’s bright, and then again it gets wet and rainy—it’s very disagreeable. _Zhev._ Ah, little mother! When our squadron was in Sicily it was spring-time—with us it would be February—they have the new calendar, you know—when we went out into the street it would be quite sunny, and then it would begin to rain, and it would be just like real ordinary rain. _Yaìch._ The most disagreeable thing is to sit alone in such weather. It’s all very well for a married man—that’s quite another thing—but when one lives alone it’s really—— _Zhev._ Oh! it’s more than any one can stand! _Anoùch._ Yes, indeed, one may say—— _Koch._ Oh yes, it’s altogether unbearable—life’s not worth having. Heaven defend anybody from such a position! _Yaìch._ Now supposing, madam, that you were asked to choose who should be the object of your affections. Allow me to ask, what would be your taste? You will excuse my directness. What ... occupation ... do you consider ... most ... worthy of respect in a husband? _Zhev._ Would you choose, madam, a husband acquainted with the storms of the ocean? _Koch._ No! no! In my opinion the best sort of husband is a man who has almost the whole management of a Department in his hands. _Anoùch._ Why anticipate? Why treat with contumely a man capable of appreciating the social intercourse of high-class society? _Yaìch._ Madam, it is for you to decide! (_Silence._) _Fèkla._ Speak up, little mother! Tell them something. _Yaìch._ What have you to say? _Koch._ What is your opinion, Agàfia Tikhònovna? _Fèkla_ (_aside to her_). Make haste! say “Thank you,” or “With the greatest pleasure,” or something.... It’s not proper to sit like that! _Agàfia._ I’m ashamed, I’m ashamed, really. I shall go away. Auntie! stop here instead of me! _Fèkla._ No, no, you musn’t go away; it’s improper, it’s disgraceful. They’ll think ... I don’t know what! _Agàfia_ (_aside_). No, no, I can’t stand it, I can’t—I can’t! (_Runs away. Arìna and Fèkla follow her._) _Yaìch._ Well, that’s a good one—everybody’s gone away. What’s the meaning of that? _Koch._ I expect something’s happened. _Zhev._ Oh, no doubt it’s some little matter of feminine toilet.... They want to pin something, or to put the camisole straight, or—— (_Enter_ FÈKLA.) _All_ (_crowding round her_). What is it? What’s the matter? _Koch._ Has anything happened? _Fèkla._ Of course not! What should happen? _Koch._ Then why did she go away? _Fèkla._ Why, you made the poor girl bashful, all of you—frightened and upset her till she couldn’t stand it. She sends you her excuses, and asks you to come in for a cup of tea in the evening. (_Exit._)