"I want you. I want Addie. I want youth around me. It's all so gloomy here. Dorine . . . Dorine's gloomy too. . . . So will you come?"
"Mamma . . . really . . ."
"You don't want to. I see you don't want to. . . . You are all of you selfish. . . . Children always are. . . . Oh, why need I go on living?"
"Dear Mamma, do be reasonable. You say you would find Dorine too much trouble . . . and, after all, there are three of us. . . ."
"Yes, three of you. Well?"
"And the rest of the family?"
"What about them?"
"They wouldn't approve."
"It's none of their business to approve or disapprove."
"And my husband . . ."
"Well?"
"My husband . . . no, really, it wouldn't do."
"Yes, I see you don't want to come. . . . You're all selfish alike. . . ."
No, it was not feasible. Constance foresaw all the difficulties: the old woman still always moving aimlessly about the house in the mornings . . . and coming upon a cigarette of Van der Welcke's . . . a book of Addie's lying about . . . a hundred trifles. . . . Adolphine, Cateau, Dorine disapproving, beyond a doubt, that Constance, of all people, should come to live with her mother: Con-
