which she had not known for years, a good, comfortable feeling that she could now grow old, that henceforth she could devote herself to her child, in the familiar atmosphere of home and domesticity. And she did not notice, did not suspect that the family and the acquaintances were stealthily examining her, judging her and condemning her.
“She’s a fast woman,” said Mrs. Van Raven, Emilie’s future mother-in-law, to Mrs. Friesesteijn. “It’s a great trial for the Van Naghels to have this sister turning up from Brussels.”
“After fourteen years,” said the old lady, sharply, eager for news, for scandal, “after fourteen years, to give occasion for rooting up all those old memories!”
And Mrs. Friesesteijn was delighted that Constance had done so.
“She killed her father.”
“I knew De Staffelaer. No one ever had a word to say against him.”
“During all those years, her husband’s people refused to know her.”
“I hear that she is intriguing like anything to go down to them now.”
“The child is not Van der Welcke’s.”
“No, his father was an Italian.”
“She’s really a most improper person.”
“Marie’s her mother, after all: one can’t blame her.”
“But the family . . .”
“Ought to have stopped her . . .”
