found a few kind words. Adolphine was certainly touched, but she was cross about that bolero and, besides, she found Addie better-looking, more taking, almost, than any of her own three ugly, lubberly boys. However, she kissed Constance and arranged for Constance to come and take tea with her next evening. When Constance was a little calmer and had laughed a little through her tears, Adolphine took her leave with a warm kiss:
“And I’ll just leave Van Saetzema’s card, shall I, Constance, here, by Karel’s, for Van der Welcke? Then he’ll get it when he arrives. . . .”
She put down the card and, suddenly unable to restrain herself, went, as though in passing, to the bolero, looked at it and said, in a voice that bore no resemblance to the envious thoughts that still smouldered in her heart:
“But, Constance! . . . Do you still wear those short little jackets?”
“Oh, they’ve been the fashion so long!” answered Constance, still thinking of the visiting-cards.
“Well, I don’t know: they’d be too short for me, at my age, I think!”
Seeing that she was younger than Constance, the remark was not only unkind, but dishonest; and Adolphine, now satisfied, went away.
Constance stared at the two visiting-cards and suddenly burst out sobbing again.
Addie took her in his arms. He was already nearly as tall as she was:
“Mamma,” he said, gently, with his resolute lad’s
