Gerdy, usually so cheerful, suddenly became very nervous, cross and angry, very limp; and she didn't understand herself, couldn't understand herself. . . .
"Well, come and have a rubber."
"Yes, yes, I'm coming. . . . Don't hustle your uncle: he's getting old."
But Gerdy laughed, shrilly, though she had to keep back her tears:
"You'll never be old."
"You think that?"
"No, never."
"Ah! Then I shall remain a scapegrace to my dying day?"
"No, a dear, kind uncle. . . . But come and have a rubber now."
She dragged him into the room. Constance grumbled mildly:
"Gerdy, you're just like a naughty child. Every time you run out of the room, you leave the door open."
And Gerdy, from being limp, became filled with poignant self-pity. Aunt Constance had ceased to care for her, cared more for her daughter-in-law, Mathilde. . . . Everybody, everybody cared more for Mathilde. . . . Addie, Johan Erzeele: they all cared more for Mathilde. . . . She, Gerdy, was misjudged by everybody . . . everybody except Uncle Henri, who was nice and kind. . . .
She made a great effort, mastered herself, mastered her volatile emotions. Alex had come over that Saturday from Amsterdam, where he was now boarding with a tutor at the Merchants' School; and he and Marietje soon got the bridge-table ready. And it became quite a serious rubber, in the still, pale-yellow atmosphere of the big living-room, where the lamps shone sleepily through their yellow-
