he seven thousand you'll have now, which you ought to keep
untouched if you're not foolish, I'll leave you another eight thousand
in my will. And you'll get nothing more than that from me, it's right
that you should know it. Come, you consent, eh? Will you say something
at last?"

"I have told you already, Varvara Petrovna."

"Remember that you're free to decide. As you like, so it shall be."

"Then, may I ask, Varvara Petrovna, has Stepan Trofimovitch said
anything yet?"

"No, he hasn't said anything, he doesn't know... but he will speak
directly."

She jumped up at once and threw on a black shawl. Dasha flushed a little
again, and watched her with questioning eyes. Varvara Petrovna turned
suddenly to her with a face flaming with anger.

"You're a fool!" She swooped down on her like a hawk. "An ungrateful
fool! What's in your mind? Can you imagine that I'd compromise you, in
any way, in the smallest degree. Why, he shall crawl on his knees to
ask you, he must be dying of happiness, that's how it shall be arranged.
Why, you know that I'd never let you suffer. Or do you suppose he'll
take you for the sake of that eight thousand, and that I'm hurrying off
to sell you? You're a fool, a fool! You're all ungrateful fools. Give me
my umbrella!"

And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the wooden
planks to Stepan Trofimovitch's.

VII

It was true that she would never have let Dasha suffer; on the contrary,
she considered now that she was acting as her benefactress. The most
generous and legitimate indignation was glowing in her soul, when, as
she put on her shawl, she caught fixed upon her the embarrassed and
mistrustful eyes of her protegee. She had genuinely loved the girl from
her childhood upwards. Praskovya Ivanovna had with justice called Darya
Pavlovna her favourite. Long ago Varvara Petrovna had made up her mind
once for all that "Darya's disposition was not like her brother's" (not,
that is, like Ivan Shatov's), that she was quiet and gentle, and capable
of great self-sacrifice; that she was distinguished by a power of
devotion, unusual modesty, rare reasonableness, and, above all, by
gratitude. Till that time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely
justified her expectations.

"In that life there will be no mistakes," said Varvara Petrovna when the
girl was only twelve years old, and as it was characteristic of her to
attach herself doggedly and passionately to any dream that fascinat