Constance was in her bedroom one morning, arranging all sorts of things, when the servant came and said:
“Mrs. van Saetzema is here, ma’am.”
Constance’ eyelashes trembled and her lips contracted. She would have liked to make an excuse, to say that she was not at home; but she refrained because of the maid:
“Very well, Truitje; ask her to come up.”
Adolphine came upstairs noisily, with elaborate gaiety:
“Good-morning, Constance, how are you? We hardly ever see you now. I say, have you been ill?”
“No.”
“You are not looking well. Why is it so dark in here?”
“Dark?”
“Yes, I should feel stifled in a light like this. Oh, of course, it’s the trees opposite! They take away all the light. My goodness, this is a gloomy house of yours! Aren’t your husband and boy back yet?”
“No.”
“I say, why didn’t you go with them?”
“For no special reason.”
“They’re a very particular old couple, aren’t they,
