Part 11 (1/2)

”Yes,” said Bertha, ”very busy.”

And she played the wrong card.

”I have known all that bustle myself,” said Constance. ”It was like that in Rome, terribly busy: four or five things every day which you couldn't possibly avoid....”

Bertha smiled vaguely; and Constance suddenly felt that she mustn't talk about Rome. She winced: she could not mention De Staffelaer's name, must ignore all that period of importance.... It suddenly upset her nerves, for she had not reflected that, even among her brothers and sisters, she would have to be careful, to exercise tact. She had come to them just because she wanted to be able to let herself go, to be frank and natural; but she felt strongly that Bertha disapproved of her for venturing to refer to Rome. She would have liked to talk about Rome, partly from vanity, to remind her sister, the wife of a minister, who was ”in the movement,” that she too had known greatness and lived in the midst of it. But she felt that she must be humble, that she was nothing more than Mrs. van der Welcke, the sister who had made a false step in life, who had married her ”lover” and who, years after, had been taken into favour by the charity of the family. This was clearly expressed in Bertha's hard, ceremonious Van Lowe face, with the blinking eyes, even though Bertha spoke not a word.

Constance was silent, went on playing; Uncle Ruyvenaer was noisy, cracked his jokes:

”The queen falls,” he said, in his fat voice. ”One more unfortunate!” he shouted, clamorously.

And, playing his ace, with a wide sweep of his hand he gathered in the trick. Constance went 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 a.s.sistance:

”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.”

”Yes,” said Bertha, more cordially, as though waking from a dream. ”He's a charming boy, only a little stiff.”

”He's still rather strange here.”

”He is very polite,” said Bertha, ”but distant. He has very nice manners, but, when he says, 'How d'ye do, Aunt?' it sounds as if he were talking to a stranger.”

”Oh, Bertha, he is meeting such a lot of new uncles and aunts all at once!”

”He is a very nice boy. A handsome little fellow. Is he like his father?”

”Yes,” said Constance, grudgingly.