“He is waiting for me. Good God!” she suddenly stopped, and a flush of colour flooded her face.

“Oh! Come now. If he is an unconventional man! You know, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, it’s none of my business. I am a complete outsider, and you know that yourself. But, still, I wish you well.⁠ ⁠… If your ‘fairy boat’ has failed you, if it has turned out to be nothing more than a rotten old hulk, only fit to be chopped up⁠ ⁠…”

“Ah! That’s fine, that’s lovely,” cried Liza.

“Lovely, and yet your tears are falling. You must have spirit. You must be as good as a man in every way. In our age, when woman.⁠ ⁠… Foo, hang it,” Pyotr Stepanovitch was on the point of spitting. “And the chief point is that there is nothing to regret. It may all turn out for the best. Mavriky Nikolaevitch is a man.⁠ ⁠… In fact, he is a man of feeling though not talkative, but that’s a good thing, too, as long as he has no conventional notions, of course.⁠ ⁠…”

“Lovely, lovely!” Liza laughed hysterically.