so slow here, Auntie, now that Emilie’s gone. Otto’s all right, with Louise. She missed him badly, while he was in India. Funny brothers and sisters, aren’t we? So exaggerated. . . . Well, Mamma, I’ll say good-bye: I shall start the first thing in the morning.”
He said good-bye and went away pulling himself together, putting a good face on his grief. Bertha began to weep softly.
A maid knocked at the door:
“Master van der Welcke, mevrouw.”
“Addie’s come to fetch me.”
“Ask Master van der Welcke to come upstairs,” said Bertha.
The boy came in. He remained near the door; in the half-dark room, he stood small but erect, like a little man:
“I have come to fetch you, Mamma.”
The two sisters looked at him, smiling. Bertha had it on her lips to say that it was not right for Addie to go about the streets alone, but she said nothing when the boy went up to his mother. He looked capable of protecting her and himself against anything, though he was only thirteen: against the dark night and against life that bore down so heavily upon their small souls.
And a melancholy jealousy welled up in Bertha, while Constance was kissing her good-bye:
“Don’t be too bitter, Constance,” she whispered, “and cherish, cherish that boy of yours. . . .”
