amily ought to be.
For a long time now Lizabetha Prokofievna had had it in her mind that
all the trouble was owing to her "unfortunate character," and this
added to her distress. She blamed her own stupid unconventional
"eccentricity." Always restless, always on the go, she constantly seemed
to lose her way, and to get into trouble over the simplest and more
ordinary affairs of life.

We said at the beginning of our story, that the Epanchins were liked
and esteemed by their neighbours. In spite of his humble origin, Ivan
Fedorovitch himself was received everywhere with respect. He deserved
this, partly on account of his wealth and position, partly because,
though limited, he was really a very good fellow. But a certain
limitation of mind seems to be an indispensable asset, if not to all
public personages, at least to all serious financiers. Added to this,
his manner was modest and unassuming; he knew when to be silent, yet
never allowed himself to be trampled upon. Also--and this was more
important than all--he had the advantage of being under exalted
patronage.

As to Lizabetha Prokofievna, she, as the reader knows, belonged to an
aristocratic family. True, Russians think more of influential friends
than of birth, but she had both. She was esteemed and even loved by
people of consequence in society, whose example in receiving her was
therefore followed by others. It seems hardly necessary to remark that
her family worries and anxieties had little or no foundation, or that
her imagination increased them to an absurd degree; but if you have a
wart on your forehead or nose, you imagine that all the world is looking
at it, and that people would make fun of you because of it, even if you
had discovered America! Doubtless Lizabetha Prokofievna was considered
"eccentric" in society, but she was none the less esteemed: the pity was
that she was ceasing to believe in that esteem. When she thought of
her daughters, she said to herself sorrowfully that she was a hindrance
rather than a help to their future, that her character and temper were
absurd, ridiculous, insupportable. Naturally, she put the blame on her
surroundings, and from morning to night was quarrelling with her husband
and children, whom she really loved to the point of self-sacrifice,
even, one might say, of passion.

She was, above all distressed by the idea that her daughters might grow
up "eccentric," like herself; she believed that no other society girls
we