what you're saying, unless I'm to suppose that your father was angry with you and gave you no money and that you had to work for your bread, perhaps. But that you were a porter . . ."
"And dock-labourer," said Constance.
"And engine-driver and miner, that I refuse to believe, unless your father . . ."
"My dear Hans, my father used to send me the same allowance that he made me at the university: three hundred guilders a month."
"And . . .?"
"And I used the money . . . for other things; but I lived on my wages, like a labourer, as I really was. You see, you can't understand that; and, as I feared, your wife thinks it horrible to be sitting at table with a man who has been a porter, a dock-labourer and a stoker . . ."
"And a miner," added Van der Welcke.
And he shut his eyes, as though he had received a blow on the head.
"But, mevrouw," said Brauws, with his quiet smile, "my hands, although they are not delicate, have become fit to show again, as you see."
And he showed his hands, big, powerful hands, probably developed by manual labour, but now neither coarse nor hard.
"But can you explain to me," asked Constance, with a little laugh, "why you worked in those various humble capacities?"
