Vershina smiled wryly and seated Peredonov near the table. On a round table near the sofa glasses and cups of tea, rum and cranberry jam were crowded together with a filigree silver dish, covered with a knitted doyley, a small cake-basket of tea-cake and home-made gingerbread stuck with almonds. A strong odour of rum came from Mourin's glass of tea, while Vitkevitch put a good deal of jam into a small glass plate, shaped like a shell. Marta was eating little slices of tea-cake with visible satisfaction. Vershina offered Peredonov refreshments--he refused to take tea. "I might be poisoned," he thought. "It's very easy to poison you--you simply drink and don't notice anything--there are sweet poisons--and then you go home and turn up your toes." And he felt vexed because they put jam before Mourin, and when he came they didn't take the trouble to get a new jar of better jam. They hadn't cranberry jam only but several other kinds. Vershina really did give a good deal of attention to Mourin. Seeing that she had little hope of Peredonov, she was looking elsewhere for a husband for Marta. Now she was trying to catch Mourin. Half-civilised by his pursuit of hard-earned gains, this landed proprietor eagerly fell to the lure. Marta pleased him. Marta was happy because it was her constant desire to find a husband and to have a good house and home--that would be complete happiness. And she looked at Mourin with loving eyes. The huge forty-years-old man, with his coarse voice and plain face, seemed to her in every movement a model of manly strength, cleverness, beauty and goodness. Peredonov noticed the loving glances exchanged by Mourin and Marta--he noticed them because he expected Marta to pay attention to him. He said gruffly to Mourin: "You sit there like a bridegroom. Your whole face is shining." "I have reason to be happy," said Mourin in a brisk, cheerful voice. "I have managed my business very well." He winked at his hostesses. They both had gay smiles. Peredonov asked gruffly, contemptuously screwing up his eyes: "What is it? Have you found a bride? Has she a big dowry?" Mourin went on as if he had not heard these questions: "Natalya Afanasyevna there--may God be good to her--has agreed to take charge of my Vaniushka. He'll live here as if he were in Christ's bosom, and my mind will be at rest, knowing that he won't be spoiled." "He'll get into mischief with Vladya," said Peredonov morosely. "They'll burn the house down." "He wouldn't dare," shouted Mourin. "Don't you worry about that, my dear Natalya Afanasyevna, you'll find him as straight as a fiddle-string." To cut short this conversation, Vershina said with her wry smile: "I should like to eat something tart." "Perhaps you'd like some bilberries and apples--I'll get them," said Marta quickly rising from her chair. "Do, please."