and
disorderly.

BABAYEV. Kindly tell me how it happened that your sister married?

LUKERYA. When your mamma died last summer we had absolutely no one left to
help us. Our papa in his old age was of no account in the city. He was a
timid man, and so he didn't get on well. Our father was a clerk in the
Chancery Office, and he received a salary of thirty rubles a year. How
could we live on such a sum? And yet we saw something of society. At first
we were hardly ever at home, and your mamma aided us in many ways. Suddenly
all that stopped, and soon our father died. At that time Tanya received an
offer from--I'm almost ashamed to tell you.

BABAYEV. Why, what are you ashamed of?

LUKERYA. You are receiving me so graciously, and your interest in my sister
makes me feel that our actions have been very uncivil.

BABAYEV. That can't be helped. Probably it was all due to circumstances.
What are you to blame for?

LUKERYA. You can hardly imagine the degree of embarrassment this
relationship causes me. In a word, our circumstances were such that she was
forced to marry a petty shopkeeper.

BABAYEV. A petty shopkeeper? What kind of shop has he?

LUKERYA. A vegetable shop. You can see it from here, the sign reads, "Lev
Krasnov."

BABAYEV. Yes, I noticed it. Is he a good man?

LUKERYA. Considering the type, he's a very nice man, and he loves sister
very dearly. Yet there is something so inherently bad about his calling
that, judge as you will, he's still not very far removed from a peasant.
That trait of character, if you boil a man for seven years in a kettle, you
cannot boil out. Yet I must give him credit for taking good care of his
house. He doesn't give himself any rest day or night; he toils hard all
the time. As for my sister, he's willing to give her whatever her heart
desires, even his last kopek, just to please her, so that she does
absolutely nothing, and lives like a lady. But his manners are boorish, and
his conversation embarrasses us very much. Altogether this is not the kind
of happiness I wished for Tanya. Judging by her beauty and the standing
of her former admirers, she should now be riding in a carriage. As it is,
necessity has forced her to marry a peasant, almost for a crust of bread,
and to blush for him whenever she sees anybody.

BABAYEV. So Tatyana Danilovna has married--I'm sorry.

LUKERYA. You needn't feel sorry. She's no match for you.

BABAYEV. Of course.--Here I am in this city, and owi