He was a boy of about fourteen with a freckled face like Marta's, and with uneasy, clumsy movements like hers. He was dressed in a blouse of coarse linen. Marta began to talk to her brother in whispers. They both laughed. Peredonov looked suspiciously at them. Whenever people laughed in his presence without his knowing the reason he always supposed that they were laughing at him. Vershina felt disturbed and tried to catch Marta's eye. But Peredonov himself showed his annoyance by asking: "What are you laughing at?" Marta started and turned towards him, not knowing what to say. Vladislav smiled, looking at Peredonov, and flushed slightly. "It's very rude," said Peredonov, "to laugh like that before guests. Were you laughing at me?" Marta blushed and Vladislav looked frightened. "Oh! no," said Marta. "We weren't laughing at you. We were talking about our own affairs." "A secret?" exclaimed Peredonov angrily. "It is rude to discuss secrets before guests." "It isn't at all a secret," said Marta, "but we laughed because Vladya hasn't all his clothes on and feels bashful about coming in." Peredonov was mollified and began to think of jokes about Vladya and presently gave him a caramel. "Marta, bring me my black shawl," said Vershina. "And at the same time look into the oven to see how that pie's getting on." Marta went out obediently. She understood that Vershina wanted to talk with Peredonov, and felt glad of the respite. "And you run away and play, Vladya," said Vershina, "there's nothing for you to chatter about here." Vladya ran off and they could hear the sand crunching under his feet. Vershina gave a quick, cautious side-glance at Peredonov through the clouds of cigarette smoke she was ceaselessly puffing out. Peredonov sat solemnly and gazed straight in front in a befogged sort of way and chewed a caramel. He felt pleased because the others had gone--otherwise they might have laughed again. Though he was quite certain that they had not been laughing at him, the annoyance remained--just as after contact with stinging nettles the pain remains and increases even though the nettles are left behind. "Why don't you get married?" said Vershina very abruptly, "What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch. You must forgive me if I speak frankly, but Varvara is not good enough for you." Peredonov passed his hand over his slightly ruffled chestnut-brown hair and announced with a surly dignity: "There is no one here good enough for me!" "Don't say that," replied Vershina, with a wry smile. "There are plenty of girls better than she is here and every one of them would marry you." She knocked the ash off her cigarette with a decisive movement as if she were emphasising her remark with an exclamation point. "Everyone wouldn't suit me," retorted Peredonov. "We're not discussing everyone," said Vershina quickly, "you're not the kind of man who'd run after a _dot_ if the girl were a fine girl. You yourself earn quite enough, thank God."