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You've covered six pages, wasted a good two hours scribbling, and there's nothing in it at all! If there were one tiny idea! One reads on and on, and one's brain is as muddled as though one were deciphering the Chinese wriggles on tea chests! Ough!" "Yes, that's true, Vanya, . . ." says Lidotchka, reddening. "I wrote it carelessly. . . ." "Queer sort of carelessness!
Sitting down to dinner, Somov, who is fond of good eating and of eating in peace, drinks a large glass of vodka and begins talking about something else. Lidotchka listens and assents, but suddenly over the soup her eyes fill with tears and she begins whimpering. "It's all mother's fault!" she says, wiping away her tears with her dinner napkin.
At that point he remembers that learned women are usually tedious, that they are exacting, strict, and unyielding; and, on the other hand, how easy it is to get on with silly Lidotchka, who never pokes her nose into anything, does not understand so much, and never obtrudes her criticism. There is peace and comfort with Lidotchka, and no risk of being interfered with.
"Confound them, those clever and learned women! It's better and easier to live with simple ones," he thinks, as he takes a plate of chicken from Lidotchka. He recollects that a civilised man sometimes feels a desire to talk and share his thoughts with a clever and well-educated woman. "What of it?" thinks Somov.
Somov shrugs his shoulders again, wraps himself in the folds of his dressing-gown and continues his pacing. . . . He feels vexed and injured, and at the same time sorry for Lidotchka, who does not protest, but merely blinks. . . . Both feel oppressed and miserable . . . . Absorbed in their woes, they do not notice how time is passing and the dinner hour is approaching.
"Lidotchka, who is it you are writing such a lot to?" Somov inquires, seeing that his wife is just beginning to scribble the sixth page. "To sister Varya." "Hm . . . it's a long letter! I'm so bored let me read it!" "Here, you may read it, but there's nothing interesting in it." Somov takes the written pages and, still pacing up and down, begins reading.
After thinking a little, he takes up the letter again with a sigh. . . . His face betrays perplexity and even alarm. . . ." "Well, this is beyond anything!" he mutters, as he finishes reading the letter and flings the sheets on the table, "It's positively incredible!" "What's the matter?" asks Lidotchka, flustered. "What's the matter!
I finished at the Von Mebke's boarding school. . . ." Somov shrugs his shoulders and continues to pace up and down, sighing. Lidotchka, conscious of her ignorance and ashamed of it, sighs too and casts down her eyes. . . . Ten minutes pass in silence. "You know, Lidotchka, it really is awful!" says Somov, suddenly halting in front of her and looking into her face with horror.
I would never have married a learned woman. . . ." "There's no making you out . . .", says Lidotchka. "You are angry because I am not learned, and at the same time you hate learned women; you are annoyed because I have no ideas in my letter, and yet you yourself are opposed to my studying. . . ."
Lidotchka leans her elbows on the back of her chair and watches the expression of his face. . . . After the first page his face lengthens and an expression of something almost like panic comes into it. . . . At the third page Somov frowns and scratches the back of his head. At the fourth he pauses, looks with a scared face at his wife, and seems to ponder.
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