not even that. She’s a reed. If you blow upon her, she breaks.”
“She was a delicate little thing as a girl, Otto.”
“Well, but look here, Granny: I can’t turn her into a robust little thing, can I?”
“For shame, Otto! Don’t be so bitter. You’ve got two darling little children.”
“Yes, children; I wish I hadn’t. I’m sorry for the poor little devils. . . . Is the show beginning now? Tableaux-vivants, arranged by dear old Louise. . . . A play without words by Frans and Henri. . . . Stale things, these wedding-parties, always. I thought ours insufferable.”
“My dear Otto, you’re in an intolerable humour.”
“I’m always like that now, Granny.”
“Then I strongly advise you to exercise a little self-control, or you will never have any happiness in life, in your own or your wife’s or your family’s.”
“The family doesn’t affect my happiness.”
“What do you mean, Otto?”
“Why, I don’t live and move and have my being in my family, Granny!”
“Oh, really, my boy, you’re too horrid! Take me back to my seat. I see your mother beckoning to me: she wants me to sit between her and Aunt Ruyvenaer. The performance is beginning. . . .”
“Ye-e-es,” Cateau was whining to Van Saetzema, Van der Welcke and Karel. “An evening-party of six-ty peo-ple. And the Rus-sian Minister was there, and the Mis-tress of the Robes.”
“Well, after all, if they have so many acquaint-
