wouldn't come back with us to Driebergen. . . . He gave way and let her stay, to avoid unpleasantness. . . . But it was ridiculous of her: the carriage is big enough and she would not have been so badly creased. . . . Oh, she looked lovely, she looked lovely! . . . She is quite lovely, dressed like that, at a ball. . . . Addie ought to have come with us. . . . She was really beautiful, but not—it's wrong of me to say it, I know—not like us."
"How do you mean, dear?"
"Not like Aunt Constance and Emilie and you. . . . She didn't . . . she didn't look well-bred. . . . She looked beautiful, but she looked coarse. . . . If Addie had come, perhaps she would have restrained herself, not worn her dress so low. She was the only one in such a very low frock. . . . You see, there was something about her . . . that repelled me even more than usual: I can't say what and it's very wrong of me, because after all she's Addie's wife and we must be fond of her; but really, she didn't look a lady; and I could see it in people's faces: they thought her very handsome . . . but not . . . not well-bred. . . . And . . . after that . . . when she did nothing but dance with Johan . . . then . . . oh, Mamma, then she looked at me . . . and looked at me with a sneer . . . as if she were looking down on me! . . . I knew that I was not at my best, that I looked pale and thin; my shoulders are not good; and Johan behaved so oddly to me, in such a queer, mocking way: oh, Mamma, he was almost cruel! . . . I do believe, oh, Mamma, I do believe, that I . . . that I'm in love with him! But I oughtn't to tell you and I oughtn't to be like this . . . I oughtn't to cry so; but I couldn't help it, I couldn't help it! . . . I did my best, Mamma, not to show it before Uncle Henri and before Guy,
