used to me,' said Arkady indulgently, and the two friends walked away.
'What's her name?' asked Bazarov.
'Fenitchka ... Fedosya,' answered Arkady.
'And her father's name? One must know that too.'
'Nikolaevna.'
'Bene. What I like in her is that she's not too embarrassed. Some people, I suppose, would think ill of her for it. What nonsense! What is there to embarrass her? She's a mother—she's all right.'
'She's all right,' observed Arkady,—'but my father.'
'And he's right too,' put in Bazarov.
'Well, no, I don't think so.'
'I suppose an extra heir's not to your liking?'
'I wonder you're not ashamed to attribute such ideas to me!' retorted Arkady hotly; 'I don't consider my father wrong from that point of view; I think he ought to marry her.'
'Hoity-toity!' responded Bazarov tranquilly. 'What magnanimous fellows we are! You still attach significance to marriage; I did not expect that of you.'
The friends walked a few paces in silence.
'I have looked at all your father's establishment,' Bazarov began again. 'The cattle are inferior, the horses are broken down; the
