wept, very quietly, swallowing her tears behind her handkerchief. And the old ladies were left together, the two mothers, so different one from the other: one, Mrs. van Lowe, a woman who perhaps had seen much more of life and understood it better than the other, Mrs. van der Welcke, who had always lived quietly, always at Driebergen, with her Bible . . . until the strange book had fallen into her hands. . . .
They were left together and the very many things which they said to each other and asked of each other, in silence, were not audible in the simple words of Constance’ mother:
“May I help you take off your hat and your cloak, mevrouw?”
And, as she assisted Mrs. van der Welcke, she apologized for Constance and said:
“I think your arrival must have agitated her; you must not mind her leaving you for a moment. . . .”
Then the old ladies sat down side by side.
“They seem to be very comfortable,” said Mrs. van der Welcke and looked around her nervously.
“I am so glad to have my child back with me,” said Mrs. van Lowe.
There was very much to be said between them, but they spoke only simple words, doubtless feeling all the unuttered rest. Their thoughts went back, many years back: how hostile they had then felt towards each other’s children, who had disgraced each other and their two families; if they had met each other then by chance, as now, they could not
