which had been long forgotten. And I know as a fact that your father- and mother-in-law were against it.”
“You seem to know a great deal; and I am glad that you are so frank.”
“I am always frank.”
“And so irreproachable.”
“I could never have done what you did, never.”
“I am so glad that you came to see me this morning, Adolphine. And that we have had this quiet talk.”
“If you had written to me at the time and asked my advice, instead of writing to Mamma only, I should have told you my opinion quietly,” said Adolphine, with a touch of sadness in her voice. “I should have recommended you, as a sister, for your own sake, not to come back to the Hague. You have become quite unsuited for Holland, for the Hague and for living among your family. Everything in your ideas, in your home life, in your way of bringing up your son clashes with our Dutch notions of what is right and decent and proper. I’m not saying this angrily, you know, Constance: I’m saying it calmly, very calmly. I daresay that is best. You dress yourself as no Dutchwoman of your age would think of doing. The fact that you have no one to your house except a friend of your husband’s causes comment. The way in which you bring up your son is considered exceptionally lax.”
“Anything more?”
“Yes, there’s something more: why did you ever
