band, Floortje, Caroline, Marietje and three noisy boys, all younger than their sisters; next came Gerrit and his wife Adeline: their children were still in the nursery; next, Karel and Cateau, still digesting their good dinner and their good wine; Ernst entered, gloomy, timid, queer and shy, as usual; Paul followed: he was the youngest son, thirty-five, good-looking, fair-haired and excessively well-dressed; last came the Van Naghels, Bertha and her husband, the colonial secretary, with their children: the three elder girls, Louise, Emilie, with Van Raven, her future husband, and Marianne; young Karel; and another Marietje: the two undergraduates were away, this time, at Leiden. There was a general humming and buzzing: the uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces exchanged greetings; many of them had not seen one another all the week; but they made it a rule to meet at Mamma’s Sundays. And this evening there was great excitement among them all, though they restrained it for Mamma’s sake: a mutual whispering and asking of opinions, because Constance was returning to the Hague, to her family, after twenty years’ absence.
Adolphine overwhelmed her eldest sister, Bertha van Naghel van Voorde, with a torrent of whispered words:
“It’s Mamma’s wish,” said Bertha, laconically, blinking her eyes.
“But what do you think? What does Van Naghel think? You surely can’t think it pleasant. . . .”
