subject of conversation. But Constance laughed gently:
“Yes,” she said, seconding her husband, “there seems to be a rumour that we have that intention; and the intention never existed for a moment.”
Van Vreeswijck breathed again, relieved:
“Oh, mevrouw, how do people ever get hold of their notions? One will suggest, ‘I wonder if they mean to be presented?’ The other catches only the last words and says, ‘They mean to be presented!’ And so the story gets about.”
“I shouldn’t care for it in the least,” said Constance. “I have become so used, of late, to a quiet life that I should think it tiresome to be paying and receiving a lot of visits. I am glad to be at the Hague, because I am back among my family. . . .”
“And the family is very glad too!” said Paul, with brotherly gallantry, and raised his glass.
She thanked him with her little laugh:
“But I want nothing more than that. And I don’t think Henri cares for anything else either.”
“No, not at all!” said Van der Welcke. “Only, I can’t understand why people at once start talking about others and, without a moment’s hesitation, pretend to know more about a fellow’s plans than he himself does. I never talk about anybody!”
“I must admit,” Constance laughed, “that I often differ from my husband, but in this we are absolutely at one: I too never talk about anybody!”
“But that people should talk about us is only natural, I suppose!” said Van der Welcke and threw
