“It is very kind of your parents.”
She had learnt that in Rome, to say one thing and mean another.
“And when do you want to go to Driebergen?” she asked.
“To-morrow.”
“We were to have gone to tea, after dinner, at the Van Saetzemas’: Adolphine and her husband.”
“I am longing to see my father and mother.”
“Very well; offend my family for the sake of yours and write and refuse the Van Saetzemas.”
“There is no question of offending anybody. I am longing to see my parents; and we must show them that we appreciate their letter.”
“Appreciate?” she asked, bitterly. “What am I to appreciate? That it took them thirteen years to say they would like to see their grandchild?”
“Your family weren’t pining to see you either, all those years.”
“That’s not true. Mamma came to see us at Brussels.”
He laughed, scornfully:
“In thirteen years, twice, for two days each time!”
She stamped her foot:
“Mamma is an old woman; she never travels.”
“My parents also are old; and they have had a hard struggle with their principles and convictions.”
“So I am to be grateful to them?”
He looked at her fixedly:
