pale; and Bertha blinked her eyes till they closed entirely. But Bertha was too much used to Uncle’s astounding vulgarities to be much disturbed by them and she answered her partner’s call correctly.
Constance kept her presence of mind, played her cards. She could have burst into one of her nervous fits of sobbing, but she restrained herself, knowing that Uncle was tactless, noisy and common, but that he would never hurt her wilfully. And she was grateful to Gerrit when he came to her assistance:
“What a nice lad that boy of yours is, Constance.”
“My Addie? Yes.”
“A bit dignified for his years, but otherwise a fine little chap.”
“He’s always very good to me. We both dote on him.”
“You must let him come to us often. Our house is one big nursery; and he’ll keep young among that troop of mine.”
“Very well, Gerrit, gladly. It’s very kind of you.”
“What is he going to be?”
“Van der Welcke wants him to go to the university first and then into the diplomatic service.”
“Is that his line?”
“I don’t know. . . . He’s a little too stiff, perhaps. . . . But he’s so young still.”
“Send him to lunch with us on Wednesday; and then he can go for a walk with my crowd.”
“Very well, I’ll tell him.”
