Henri almost began to cry, Leiden man though he is. No, he wasn’t in love, he said, but he had always been with Emilie, with Emilie and Marianne; and now she was married and would be a stranger. He was so bad that we took him home; and then he locked himself in his room and wouldn’t even see Marianne.”
“But, Addie, that’s morbid.”
“I dare say; but it’s true.”
“I must go round to Aunt Bertha’s. Will you take me?”
“No, let me go cycling with Papa. He’s sitting upstairs, eating his cheese for all he’s worth. You’d better tell Truitje to take him up his coffee.”
“But, Addie, what will the girl think when she sees Papa finishing his dinner upstairs?”
“She can think what she likes. It’s your fault. Shall I come and fetch you at Aunt Bertha’s at a quarter to ten?”
She looked at him radiantly, delighted, surprised. And she kissed him passionately:
“My boy, my darling!” she cried, pressing him to her heart.
