“I am not complaining on my own behalf now, I am complaining on behalf of Adolphine. I think you others are not tolerant enough of anything that does not appeal to your taste. That’s all. I am not complaining as far as I’m concerned. You have all received me very nicely; only, I am frightened. I’m frightened, I’m frightened. . . . Tell me, is it possible that there should be a strong family-feeling, a mutual kindliness, when the daily criticism is so inexorable?”
“The daily criticism in the family: what a good title for an essay!”
“Paul, do be serious!”
“My dear Connie, you know I can’t. Alas, I can only be serious when I am holding forth myself!”
“Well, then, I’ll let you talk. . . .”
“That’s generous of you. My Connie, you must remember this—it’s a cruel law in our social life—that parents care much for their children, but children less for their parents; that the family-bonds become still looser between brothers and sisters; and that those bonds gradually become wholly loosened between uncles and aunts and nephews and nieces and cousins. Family-life may have existed in the days of the old patriarchs, who went into the wilderness with sons and daughters and herds, but it has ceased to exist in our modern days. At Gerrit’s, although he has no herds, a little bit of it may still exist, because his children are very many and very small. But, when children are a little bigger, they want to
