It was the middle of November; and Constance remembered that Bertha’s second at-home day was on the third Tuesday of the month. The next number of the Dwarskijker was due in a day or two; and this, although she did not mention it again, left her practically no peace throughout that week, in her terror of printed words of spite and malevolence. And, as if to redeem her promise to Van der Welcke, she said that afternoon, at lunch, that she was going to Bertha’s, as it was Bertha’s day. He at once grasped her intention and, to tell the truth, was surprised that she had not given up her plan of pushing herself. He had rather imagined that the idea came to her in the nervous excitement produced by their conversation, but that she would not take it seriously after the excitement was past. He remembered that the family always looked upon those receptions at the Van Naghels’ as something very official: Mamma van Lowe went to them once in a way; and Uncle and Aunt Ruyvenaer, although quite out of their element, used to put in an appearance once every winter, because they had done so at first, by mistake, and now did not exactly know how to stay away; but none of the other relations ever went. In the eyes of the family, those reception-days always retained a certain official importance and aristocratic exclusiveness; and Cateau, for instance, would say,
