to Paris, London or Berlin, they’ll never, never, never forget their French, their English or their German! Oh, they know their foreign languages so well!”
“Gerrit,” said Paul, “what you say is true; but just try and say it in fine Dutch, Gerrit!”
“And, Sis,” continued Gerrit, stammering a little, but full of mettle, “that is why I think it so nice that you, a woman like you, who have lived for years in Rome, in just that smart, cosmopolitan world where patriotism tends to disappear, that you, who have been away from your country for twenty years, that just you have felt awaken in yourself . . .”
“Bravo!” cried Paul. “His words are coming!”
“A feeling for your country, for your motherland, that made you long to see Holland again. I would never have suspected it in you; and that, Sissy, is why I should almost like to kiss you . . . but we’re at a party. . . .”
“And a party of Adolphine’s into the bargain. And Adelientje is jealous.”
“No, I’m not!” said Adeline, good-naturedly.
“Well, then, Connie, here goes!”
And Gerrit gave his sister an offhand kiss.
“You’re a couple of pastoral characters!” said Paul. “I can’t compete with you.”
“And now, Constance, a glass of champagne . . . to drink to all the family and to our native land,” said Gerrit; and, with Constance on his arm, he walked across the room to the buffet.
