since she had seen that woman’s mother and known her sadness. In the old woman it was a gentle wish not only for reconciliation, but for some measure of friendship with that woman, the wife of her son, the mother of her grandchild. But she felt that there was no trace of any such wish in her husband’s heart; and, because she could only obey, she said nothing and merely told him wordlessly that she did not think as he thought.
He heard her saying it without words, but he did not give in.
And, when they went to bed, he said:
“I shall write to Henri to-morrow.”
He wrote to ask if Henri and Adriaan would come and spend a week at Driebergen, before Adriaan’s holidays were over. Van der Welcke felt in the laboured words of that old man who was not used to writing that his father was implacable towards Constance. Constance felt it and so did Addie. And, when Addie, offended on his mother’s behalf, said, angrily, that she was being left behind alone, she replied:
“It’s better that you should go with Papa, my boy.”
She thought it advisable for him, the grandson, the heir, not to provoke his grandfather. But she had never spent a week without him before:
“What can I do?” she thought. “He is growing bigger, older; I shall see less of him still as time goes on.”
Yes, he had grown bigger, older; he was now
