TREPLIEFF.  But she won’t. [A pause] Her father and stepmother have disowned her.  They have even put watchmen all around their estate to keep her away. [He goes with the doctor toward the desk] How easy it is, Doctor, to be a philosopher on paper, and how difficult in real life!

Sorin.  She was a beautiful girl.  Even the State Councillor himself was in love with her for a time.

Dorn.  You old Lovelace, you!

SHAMRAEFF’S laugh is heard.

Paulina.  They are coming back from the station.

TREPLIEFF.  Yes, I hear my mother’s voice.

Arkadina and Trigorin come in, followed by Shamraeff.

Shamraeff.  We all grow old and wither, my lady, while you alone, with your light dress, your gay spirits, and your grace, keep the secret of eternal youth.

Arkadina.  You are still trying to turn my head, you tiresome old man.

Trigorin. [To Sorin] How do you do, Peter?  What, still ill?  How silly of you! [With evident pleasure, as he catches sight of Masha] How are you, Miss Masha?

Masha.  So you recognised me? [She shakes hands with him.]

Trigorin.  Did you marry him?

Masha.  Long ago.

Trigorin.  You are happy now? [He bows to Dorn and Medviedenko, and then goes hesitatingly toward TREPLIEFF] Your mother says you have forgotten the past and are no longer angry with me.

TREPLIEFF gives him his hand.

Arkadina. [To her son] Here is a magazine that Boris has brought you with your latest story in it.

TREPLIEFF. [To Trigorin, as he takes the magazine] Many thanks; you are very kind.

Trigorin.  Your admirers all send you their regards.  Every one in Moscow and St. Petersburg is interested in you, and all ply me with questions about you.  They ask me what you look like, how old you are, whether you are fair or dark.  For some reason they all think that you are no longer young, and no one knows who you are, as you always write under an assumed name.  You are as great a mystery as the Man in the Iron Mask.

TREPLIEFF.  Do you expect to be here long?

Trigorin.  No, I must go back to Moscow to-morrow.  I am finishing another novel, and have promised something to a magazine besides.  In fact, it is the same old business.

During their conversation Arkadina and Paulina have put up a card-table in the centre of the room; Shamraeff lights the candles and arranges the chairs, then fetches a box of lotto from the cupboard.

Trigorin.  The weather has given me a rough welcome.  The wind is frightful.  If it goes down by morning I shall go fishing in the lake, and shall have a look at the garden and the spot—­do you remember?—­where your play was given.  I remember the piece very well, but should like to see again where the scene was laid.