“So do we, re-ally,” drawled Cateau, more cheerfully, forgetting the brougham waiting in the wet.
“Yes,” said Adolphine, with conviction. “What are we to do with a sister like that?”
“Whom you can’t let any one meet,” growled Karel under his breath.
“Oh, dear!” whined Cateau to Adolphine. “Do you think so too?”
“And,” said Adolphine, “mark my words, you’ll see, she’s full of pretensions. You know the sort of thing,” with an envious wave of the hand. “Society . . . pushing herself . . . perhaps even going to Court.”
“No!” drawled Cateau. “Sure-ly for that, even Constance would have too much tact.”
“I’m not so sure!” growled Karel.
Unlike Bertha and Constance, Adolphine had not been presented at Court, because, after Constance’ marriage Papa and Mamma van Lowe, feeling old and tired, had taken to living more quietly. She could never forgive them for it.
“No!” droned Cateau. “But then you are such a regular, good, Dutch wife and mo-ther, Adolph-ine. That’s what I al-ways say to Ka-rel.”
Adolphine looked flattered.
“Yes, but,” said Karel, by way of excuse, “you mustn’t look to Constance for what she has never been. She went straight to Rome after her first marriage.”
“Those Court circles are always fast,” Adolphine declared.
