“I don’t know what you think of yourself, Misha,” she said, and heaved a sigh.  “Really, God might punish you for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.  Excuse my meddling in your affairs.  But it seems you are spoiling your own life out of obstinacy.  You’ll admit that it is high time you got married, and she is an excellent and deserving girl.  You will never find any one better.  She’s a beauty, clever, gentle, and devoted. . . .  And her appearance! . . .  If she belonged to our circle or a higher one, people would be falling in love with her for her red hair alone.  See how beautifully her hair goes with her complexion.  Oh, goodness!  You don’t understand anything, and don’t know what you want,” Anna Akimovna said bitterly, and tears came into her eyes.  “Poor girl, I am so sorry for her!  I know you want a wife with money, but I have told you already I will give Masha a dowry.”

Mishenka could not picture his future spouse in his imagination except as a tall, plump, substantial, pious woman, stepping like a peacock, and, for some reason, with a long shawl over her shoulders; while Masha was thin, slender, tightly laced, and walked with little steps, and, worst of all, she was too fascinating and at times extremely attractive to Mishenka, and that, in his opinion, was incongruous with matrimony and only in keeping with loose behaviour.  When Anna Akimovna had promised to give Masha a dowry, he had hesitated for a time; but once a poor student in a brown overcoat over his uniform, coming with a letter for Anna Akimovna, was fascinated by Masha, and could not resist embracing her near the hat-stand, and she had uttered a faint shriek; Mishenka, standing on the stairs above, had seen this, and from that time had begun to cherish a feeling of disgust for Masha.  A poor student!  Who knows, if she had been embraced by a rich student or an officer the consequences might have been different.

“Why don’t you wish it?” Anna Akimovna asked.  “What more do you want?”

Mishenka was silent and looked at the arm-chair fixedly, and raised his eyebrows.

“Do you love some one else?”

Silence.  The red-haired Masha came in with letters and visiting cards on a tray.  Guessing that they were talking about her, she blushed to tears.

“The postmen have come,” she muttered.  “And there is a clerk called Tchalikov waiting below.  He says you told him to come to-day for something.”

“What insolence!” said Anna Akimovna, moved to anger.  “I gave him no orders.  Tell him to take himself off; say I am not at home!”

A ring was heard.  It was the priests from her parish.  They were always shown into the aristocratic part of the house—­that is, upstairs.  After the priests, Nazaritch, the manager of the factory, came to pay his visit, and then the factory doctor; then Mishenka announced the inspector of the elementary schools.  Visitors kept arriving.