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black shawl,” Vershina said. “And while you’re at it, take a look in the kitchen and see how the pie is doing.”
    Marta left obediently. She understood that Vershina wanted to talk to Peredonov and she was happy, in her indolence, that
     there was no hurry.
    “And off you go,” said Vershina to Vladya. “There’s no reason for you to hang around here.”
    Vladya ran off and the murmuring sound of sand was audible beneath his feet. Vershina carefully and quickly glanced sideways
     at Peredonov through the smoke which she was emitting incessantly. Peredonov sat in silence, staring straight ahead with a
     vague look and chewing on a caramel. He was pleased that the others had left, otherwise, to be sure, they might have started
     laughing again. Although he knew probably that they weren’t laughing at him, nevertheless, a feeling of annoyance lingered
     on inside him, just the way the pain lingers on and grows after touching a stinging nettle even though the nettle is long
     removed.
    “Why aren’t you getting married?” Vershina suddenly said briskly, quickly. “Why are you still waiting, Ardalyon Borisych?
     Varvara is no match for you, forgive me for being forthright.”
    Peredonov ran his hand through his slightly tousled chestnut-colored hair and said with sullen pomposity:
    “No one’s a match for me here.”
    “Don’t say that,” Vershina objected and smiled crookedly. “There’s a great deal better here than her and anyone would marry
     you.”
    She flicked the ash from her cigarette with a decisive movement as though she were putting an exclamation mark to something.
    “I don’t need just anyone,” Peredonov replied.
    “We’re not talking about just anyone,” Vershina said quickly. “And since you don’t have to go chasing after a dowry there
     would be a fine girl. Thank goodness you earn enough.”
    “No,” objected Peredonov, “there’s more for me to gain by marrying Varvara. The Princess has promised patronage to her. She’ll
     give me a good position,” Peredonov said with sullen enthusiasm.
    Vershina smiled slightly. Her entire face, wrinkled, dark and seemingly tobacco cured, expressed a condescending mistrustfulness.
     She asked:
    “And did the Princess herself tell you that?”
    With the stress on the word “you.”
    “Not me but Varvara,” Peredonov admitted. “But it makes no difference.”
    “You’re relying rather a lot on the words of your cousin,” Vershina said maliciously. “Tell me now, is she much older than
     you? About fifteen years or so? Or more? She must be close to fifty?”
    “Come now,” Peredonov said with annoyance. “She’s not thirty yet.”
    Vershina laughed.
    “Interesting,” she said with unconcealed derision in her voice. “Yet to look at she’s much older than you. Of course, it’s
     none of my affair, but it does seem a pity from the point of view that such a fine young person can’t live the way he might
     have deserved, given his attractiveness and spiritual qualities.”
    Peredonov looked himself over with self-satisfaction. But there was no smile on his ruddy face and it seemed as though he
     were insulted by the fact that not everyone understood him as well as Vershina did. Vershina continued:
    “You’ll go far even without patronage. How can the authorities not help but value you! Why should you hang on to Varvara!
     And it’s not worth your while marrying one of the Rutilov ladies. They’re all frivolous and you need a solid wife. You ought
     to take my Marta here.”
    Peredonov glanced at his watch.
    “Time to go home,” he said and began to take leave.
    Vershina was certain that Peredonov was leaving because she had touched a raw spot and it was only because of his indecisiveness
     that he didn’t want to talk about Marta right then.

II
    V ARVARA D MITRIEVNA M ALOSHINA , Peredonov’s mistress, was waiting for him, slovenly dressed but painstakingly powdered and rouged. Jam pastries had been
     baked for lunch.