movements. Sluggishly and heavily his footsteps came down the passage. Then he slowly opened the door of the dining-room, which was also the living-room.
He remained standing in the doorway:
"Ah, Constance! Good-morning."
"Good-morning, Gerrit. How late you are!" she repeated, gaily. "You're in no hurry to get up on a Sunday, I see!"
But she was startled when she looked at him:
"Gerrit, dear . . . what's the matter?"
"I'm feeling rotten," he said, gloomily. "No, children, don't worry Father."
And he pushed aside the playful-rough hands of the two cheeky rascals, Alex and Guy.
"Gerrit hasn't been at all well for a day or two," said Adeline, anxiously.
"What is it, Gerrit?" asked Constance, smiling her smile of a moment ago, when the sunny warmth of the children had made her smile through her own gloomy depression.
"I feel beastly rotten," he repeated, gloomily. "No, thanks, I don't want any breakfast."
"Haven't you been well for the last two days?" asked Constance.
He looked at her with dull, glassy eyes. He thought of telling her, with bitter irony, that all his life he had not been well; but she would not have understood, she would have believed that he was
