"A man must live!" repeated Ilya with a sigh. "Have you never tried to make your living by work?" Ilya did not understand. "How?" "Have you ever worked?" "Always. All my life. I--sell things," answered Ilya doubtfully. She smiled, and Ilya felt a little hurt at her smile. "You think--selling things--is work?" "Yes, surely. It often makes me tired." Looking in her face he felt that she was not joking, but speaking earnestly. "Oh, no"--the girl went on with a condescending smile. "To work means to make something by the exercise of one's strength--to create something. Thread or ribbons or chairs or chests--d'you see?" Lunev nodded and blushed; he was ashamed to say that he did not understand. "But trade--what's the good of it? it makes nothing," she said with conviction, and looked challengingly at Ilya. "Yes," he answered slowly and carefully. "You're right there--it isn't difficult when you're used to it. But still trade must be some use, or else there wouldn't be any, would there?" She did not reply to this, but turned away and began to speak to her brother. Soon after she took her leave, only nodding to Ilya as she went. Her expression was cold and proud, even as it was before the encounter with Masha. Ilya pondered on this; could he by any chance have hurt her feelings by a careless word? He thought over everything he had said, and could find nothing in it to wound her. Then he began to consider her words, and the more he thought the more they occupied him. What sort of difference could she see between trade and work? She interested him more and more; but he could not understand why her features looked cross and irritable when she herself was so kind, and could not only sympathise with people, but also help them. Pavel had visited her at home, and was full of enthusiastic praises for her and all the mode of life in her family. "The minute you come in--at once, they say, 'Welcome.' If they're at table, then--'Sit down with us.' If they're having tea--'Have a cup of tea with us.' It's so simple--and the people, there--my word!--and so happy--they drink tea and talk all at once and quarrel over books; and the books all lie about as if it were a book-shop. It's often crowded, you knock into your neighbour, and he laughs. All educated people--one is an advocate, another will soon be a doctor, and students and that sort. You forget altogether who you are, and laugh as if you were in your own set, and smoke and so on. It's splendid--so jolly, and so sensible." "Ah--they'll never ask me," said Lunev, gloomily, "that proud young lady." "Proud?--she?" cried Pavel. "I tell you, she's simplicity itself. Don't wait for an invitation--meet her by accident at the house door--and there you are. All people are equal, there--like in an inn, my boy. You feel so free. I tell you--what am I compared to you? But after two visits--like a child of the house!--and interesting--the noise, the row--the words start up--it's like a game."