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He felt like going away, but at the same time he wished to tell Lubov something insulting about her brother, and he waited till Taras would leave the room. Lubov washed the dishes; her face was concentrated and thoughtful; her hands moved lazily.
"After the wedding I'll persuade him to take me abroad," thought Lubov, suddenly, and, confused at this thought she forgot what she was about to say to her father. Blushing deeply, she was silent for a few seconds, seized with fear lest Smolin might interpret this silence in a way unflattering to her.
And here his thoughts rested on Lubov's complaints. His gait became slower; he was now astounded by the fact that all the people that were near to him and with whom he talked a great deal, always spoke to him of life. His father, his aunt, his godfather, Lubov, Sophya Pavlovna, all these either taught him to understand life, or complained of it.
The lost one? But I I don't want to at all!" "The lost one is gone, consequently it is not worthwhile speaking of him. There is a will, dear, which says: 'All my movable and real estates shall go to my daughter, Lubov. And as to the fact that she is your godfather's daughter, we'll set this right." "It is all the same," said Foma, firmly. "I shall not marry her!"
Lubov was sitting by the window darning her father's socks, and her head was bent low over her work. "What is all this for, papa?" she asked, dissatisfied and offended. "Why, for sauce, for flavour. And then, it's in due order. For a girl is not a horse; you can't dispose of her without the harness."
The two old men convulsively clasped each other in their arms, exchanged warm kisses and then stepped apart. The wrinkles of the older man quivered, the lean face of the younger was immobile, almost stern. The kisses had changed nothing in the external side of this scene, only Lubov burst into a sob of joy, and Foma awkwardly moved about in his seat, feeling as though his breath were failing him.
He looked in silence, and softly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Lubov was uneasily moving about in her chair. The pendulum of the clock told the seconds with a dull, sighing sound. And Foma's heart throbbed slowly and painfully, as though conscious that here no one would respond with a warm word to its painful perplexity.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mayakin. "Well, you are young folks, you can have books in your hands." "And do you not take interest in any of the societies?" Smolin asked Lubov. "You have so many different societies here." "Yes," said Lubov with a sigh, "but I live rather apart from everything." "Housekeeping!" interposed the father.
Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and winked his eyes a little. "What kind of a book is it?" he asked his daughter, after a pause. "A little yellow-covered book," said Lubov, unwillingly. "Just put that book on my table. That is said not without reflection everything on earth is rational! See someone thought of it. Yes. It is even very cleverly expressed.
Smolin listened to the old man's words with a covetous smile on his lips, and cast at Lubov glances which seemed to invite her to refute her father. Somewhat embarrassed, she said: "And yet, papa, the majority of the merchant class is uneducated and savage." "Yes," remarked Smolin with regret, nodding his head affirmatively, "that is the sad truth." "Take Foma, for instance," went on the girl.
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