“I’ll do it,” said Dolly, and getting up, she carefully passed the spoon over the frothing sugar, and from time to time shook off the clinging jam from the spoon by knocking it on a plate that was covered with yellow-red scum and blood-colored syrup. “How they’ll enjoy this at teatime!” she thought of her children, remembering how she herself as a child had wondered how it was the grown-up people did not eat what was best of all⁠—the scum of the jam.

“Stiva says it’s much better to give money.” Dolly took up meanwhile the weighty subject under discussion, what presents should be made to servants. “But.⁠ ⁠…”

“Money’s out of the question!” the princess and Kitty exclaimed with one voice. “They appreciate a present.⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, last year, for instance, I bought our Matrona Semyenovna, not a poplin, but something of that sort,” said the princess.

“I remember she was wearing it on your nameday.”