sly] I'll be damned if I ever sit down to another game of
cards with that old cat!

He rushes into the garden. The SECOND GUEST follows him. GEORGE is left
alone at the table.

AVDOTIA. Whew! He makes my blood boil! Old cat, indeed! You're an old
cat yourself!

MARTHA. How angry you are, aunty!

AVDOTIA. [Sees MARTHA and claps her hands] Are you here, my darling?
My beauty! And was I blind as a bat, and didn't see you? Darling child!
[She kisses her and sits down beside her] How happy this makes me! Let
me feast my eyes on you, my milk-white swan! Oh, oh, you have bewitched
me!

LEBEDIEFF. Why don't you find her a husband instead of singing her
praises?

AVDOTIA. He shall be found. I shall not go to my grave before I have
found a husband for her, and one for Sasha too. I shall not go to my
grave--[She sighs] But where to find these husbands nowadays? There
sit some possible bridegrooms now, huddled together like a lot of
half-drowned rats!

THIRD GUEST. A most unfortunate comparison! It is my belief, ladies,
that if the young men of our day prefer to remain single, the fault lies
not with them, but with the existing, social conditions!

LEBEDIEFF. Come, enough of that! Don't give us any mo re philosophy; I
don't like it!

Enter SASHA. She goes up to her father.

SASHA. How can you endure the stuffy air of this room when the weather
is so beautiful?

ZINAIDA. My dear Sasha, don't you see that Martha is here?

SASHA. I beg your pardon.

[She goes up to MARTHA and shakes hands.]

MARTHA. Yes, here I am, my dear little Sasha, and proud to congratulate
you. [They kiss each other] Many happy returns of the day, dear!

SASHA. Thank you! [She goes and sits down by her father.]

LEBEDIEFF. As you were saying, Avdotia Nazarovna, husbands are hard to
find. I don't want to be rude, but I must say that the young men of the
present are a dull and poky lot, poor fellows! They can't dance or talk
or drink as they should do.

AVDOTIA. Oh, as far as drinking goes, they are all experts. Just give
them--give them----

LEBEDIEFF. Simply to drink is no art. A horse can drink. No, it must be
done in the right way. In my young days we used to sit and cudgel our
brains all day over our lessons, but as soon as evening came we would
fly off on some spree and keep it up till dawn. How we used to dance and
flirt, and drink, too! Or sometimes we would sit and chatter and discuss
everything under the sun until we almost wagge