MME. KABANOVA. What brings you abroad so late, old friend?

DIKOY. Why, who's to hinder me being out, I should like to know?

MME. KABANOVA. Who wants to hinder you, indeed!

DIKOY. Well, then what's the use of talking? Whose control am I under, hey? What next will you say? What the devil....

MME. KABANOVA. Now then, keep a little check on your tongue! You'd better look out for someone else to talk to! I won't let you off so easily as some do! Go your way wherever you're going. Come indoors, Feklusha.

[Gets up.

DIKOY. Wait a bit, old friend, wait a bit! Don't be angry. You're in no hurry to get home; your home's not many miles away. Here it is!

MME. KABANOVA. If you've come on business, don't shout at me, but speak out plainly.

DIKOY. I've no business, but I'm drunk, that's what it is!

MME. KABANOVA. Well, would you have me praise you for that, hey?

DIKOY. Needn't praise or blame. Only I'm drunk, and that's all about it. I can't get over it till I've slept it off.

MME. KABANOVA. Well, go and have a sleep then.

DIKOY. Where am I to go?

MME. KABANOVA. Home, of course, where else?

DIKOY. But if I don't want to go home.

MME. KABANOVA. Why not, allow me to ask you?

DIKOY. Because I've a row going on there.

MME. KABANOVA. Why, who is there to quarrel with? You're the only quarrelsome one there, you know.

DIKOY. Well, what if I am quarrelsome, hey? What of it, hey?

MME. KABANOVA. Oh, nothing. Only there's no great glory in doing battle all your life with women, that's all.

DIKOY. Well, I suppose they ought to obey me! Or am I to obey them, hey?

MME. KABANOVA. I really wonder at you; with all the crowd of folks in your house, not a single one can do anything to your liking.

DIKOY. That's so!

MME. KABANOVA. Come, what do you want of me?

DIKOY. Well, talk me out of my temper. You're the only person in the whole town who knows how to talk to me.

MME. KABANOVA. Go in, Feklusha, and order a little something to be served. (Feklusha goes.) Let's go indoors.

DIKOY. No, I'm not going indoors, I'm worse indoors!

MME. KABANOVA. How have they put you into such a rage?

DIKOY. I've been so all day since the morning.

MME. KABANOVA. I suppose they've been asking for money.

DIKOY. As if they were in league together, damn them. One after another the whole day long they've been at me.

MME. KABANOVA. No doubt you'll have to give it them, or they wouldn't persist.

DIKOY. I know that; but what would you have me do, since I've a temper like that? Why, I know that I must pay, still I can't do it with a good will. You're a friend of mine, and I've to pay you something, and you come and ask me for it, I'm bound to swear at you! Pay I will, if pay I must, but I must swear too. For you've only to hint at money to me, and I feel hot all over in a minute; red-hot all over, and that's all about it. And to be sure at such times, I'd swear at anyone for nothing at all.

MME. KABANOVA. You've no one over you, and so you think you can do as you like.

DIKOY. No, you hold your tongue! Listen to me! I'll tell you the sort of troubles that happen to me. I had fasted and all ready for sacrament in Lent, and then the evil one thrusts a wretched peasant under my nose. He had come for money,—for wood he had supplied us. And for my sins he must needs show himself at a time like that! I fell into sin, of course, I pitched into him, pitched into him finely, I did, all but thrashed him. There you have it, my temper! Afterwards I asked his pardon, bowed down at his feet, upon my word I did. It's the truth I'm telling you, I bowed down at a peasant's feet. That's what my temper brings me to: on the spot there, in the mud I bowed down at his feet; before everyone, I did.

MME. KABANOVA. But what do you work yourself up into a rage on purpose for? That's not right, my friend!

DIKOY. On purpose? How d'you mean?

MME. KABANOVA. I've seen you, I know all about it. When you see that people are going to ask you for anything, you go and pick a quarrel purposely with one of your household, so as to work yourself into a rage. For you know that when you're in a rage, no one dare come near you. That's a pretty thing!

DIKOY. Well, what of it? Who likes parting with his property?

[Glasha comes in.

GLASHA. Marfa Ignatievna, lunch is served!

MME. KABANOVA. Well, old friend, come in! Have a taste of what God has sent us!

DIKOY. Much obliged.

MME. KABANOVA. Pray walk in. (Ushers Dikoy in front and follows him in. Glasha, folding her arms, stands at the gates.)

GLASHA. If that isn't Boris Grigoritch coming. Sure now he's not after his uncle? Or may be, just out for a stroll—to be sure, out for a stroll, he must be. [Enter Boris.