"There, what did I tell you? I knew it! Well, give us some nighties, in Heaven's name!"
"Oh no, Marietje, never mind about that!"
"Yes, yes, yes, hand over your nighties and let's sew them!"
Marianne had sat down at her work-basket and Marietje, out of sheer boredom, also took up a "nightie." But she did no sewing:
"Just imagine if we wore this sort of thing, Marianne! It would tear my skin. . . . Oh Lord, there's another train! What a row, what an awful row! Aren't you afraid the house will fall in?"
"No."
"Do you like that noise?"
"Yes, one gets used to it."
"You could sleep to it, eh?"
"Yes, it lulls one."
Marietje shrieked with laughter:
"Oh, Marianne, how sentimental . . . you . . . have . . . be-come, as Aunt Cateau would say. . . ."
And, to herself, she thought:
"No, I'm not like that, you know. You won't catch me falling in love with my uncle for nothing. I mean to marry money, lots of money . . ."
But she said nothing, just stared out at the sunny, dusty road. A few people came along from the station.
