“I don’t give dinner-parties. I have Van Vreeswijck to dinner now and again.”
“To dinner . . . with pink candles on the table?”
“Yes, with pink candles.”
“Well, if you don’t want to come . . . this is a free country. . . .”
“Fortunately!”
“You’re rather upset this morning, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.”
“Is it just because our boys had a fight? You’ve adopted quite a different tone to me since: I’ve noticed. I can’t help it if boys choose to fight.”
“Adolphine, don’t let us talk of matters that can make us say things which we might regret.”
But Adolphine was angry because Constance had refused to come to her dinner. Her invitations had all gone wrong and she wanted Constance; also, she thought that Constance did not value the invitation; also, she thought Constance a snob, with that everlasting Vreeswijck of hers, that Court man. . . .
“Regret?” she said, coldly. “I never say anything that I have to regret. But I can’t help it if people at the Hague are saying unpleasant things about us all just now!”
And, working herself into a state of nervous excitement, she tried to cry, in order to make Constance, who was so unkind, feel, once and for all, that not only she, Adolphine, but the whole family had to suffer no end of pain because of Constance.
