dog and at last landed on his bicycle with a ridiculous jump; and Constance stealthily watched him spurting past Van der Welcke, leaning forward over his handle-bar, pedalling like mad.
Then she felt happy, because he was merry, like a child. . . .
Emilie had been married a day or two, when Addie said, at dinner:
“I went for a walk with Henri van Naghel and his friend Kees Hijdrecht.”
“But, Addie,” said Constance, who was very irritable that day, “why are you always with those boys? Do they really care for going out with you? Why not go to Aunt Adolphine’s boys instead? They are your own age.”
“Well, I can understand that Addie prefers Henri,” Van der Welcke let fall, unfortunately.
“Why?” she asked, immediately up in arms.
He wished to avoid a dispute—he was sometimes more reasonable than she—and he merely said:
“Well, they’re rather rough.”
“It would be a miracle,” she at once began to cavil, “if you ever saw anything good in the Van Saetzemas’ house.”
He looked at her with wide eyes, his fine, young, blue eyes:
“But, Constance . . .”
“Yes, you’re always crabbing Adolphine, her husband, her house, her children. . . .”
“But, Constance, I never mention them. . . .”
“That’s not true!”
