Constance led her sister almost mechanically through the passages and up the stairs.
"It's a gloomy house," said Adolphine, with a shiver at the sight of the oak doors.
"Yes, it is rather gloomy. . . . Fortunately, it's large; there's plenty of space."
"Really?" asked Adolphine, growing interested. "Have you many rooms?"
"Oh, a great many! . . . When the old man was alive, they were all empty. Now they are nearly all full."
"Nearly all?"
"Very nearly. . . . This is my own sitting-room."
They went in.
"It's the furniture from your drawing-room at the Hague," said Adolphine.
"Yes. I can imagine myself at the Hague here."
"Do you like the Hague?"
"I'd rather live there than here. But Henri and Addie are attached to the house: it's their family house."
"They are fine, big rooms," said Adolphine, in humble praise. "I'm living in a very small house now."
"Ah, but there are so few of you!"
"That's true."
"How's your husband?"
"He's not very grand . . . Marietje neither."
"Isn't she well?"
"No. She's very full of nerves. I consulted Dr. Berens, to ease my mind."
"What does he say?"
"He . . . he suggested that . . ."
"That what, Adolphine?"
"He said . . . that Addie was beginning to make such a name . . . as a nerve-specialist. He
