another Marietje: the two undergraduates were away, this time, at Leiden. There was a general humming and buzzing: the uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces exchanged greetings; many of them had not seen one another all the week; but they made it a rule to meet at Mamma's Sundays. And this evening there was great excitement among them all, though they restrained it for Mamma's sake: a mutual whispering and asking of opinions, because Constance was returning to the Hague, to her family, after twenty years' absence.
Adolphine overwhelmed her eldest sister, Bertha van Naghel van Voorde, with a torrent of whispered words:
"It's Mamma's wish," said Bertha, laconically, blinking her eyes.
"But what do you think? What does Van Naghel think? You surely can't think it pleasant. … "
"Constance is our sister. … "
"Our sister, our sister! If my sister misconducts herself. … "
"Adolphine, Constance has been married to Van der Welcke for fourteen years; and there comes a time when one overlooks. … "
"But what are you going to do? Will you have her at your house?"
"Yes, of course."
Adolphine had it at the tip of her jealous tongue to say, "And I suppose you'll ask her to your big dinners," but she restrained herself.
The younger nephews and nieces were also busily talking:
"Isn't she here yet?"
"No, she's coming later."
"Is she old?"
"She's between Uncle Gerrit and Aunt Adolphine. … "
"How nervous Grandmamma is!"
"Oh, she doesn't strike me so! … "
"Why is she so late?"
"To make a triumphal entry. … "
"Oh, triumphal!" said Floortje, Adolphine's daughter. "That would be the finishing touch!"
"There she is!"
"Yes, I hear some one on the stairs."
"Granny's gone outside to meet her."
"And Aunt Dorine, too."
"I'm awfully curious to. … "
"Yes, but we mustn't stare like that," said Marianne van Naghel to the boys.
"Why shouldn't I, if I want to?" asked Piet Saetzema.
"Because it's ill-bred," said Marianne, angrily.
"Oh, indeed? It's you that's ill-bred."
"And you're a boor!" cried Marianne, losing her temper.
"Marianne!" said her sister Emilie, soothingly.
"It's those horrid boys of Aunt Adolphine's!" muttered Marianne, in her indignation.
"Then don't take any notice of them."
"Here comes Aunt Constance. … "
Mrs. van Lowe had gone to meet her daughter in the passage; she embraced her there. The door was open; the brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces looked out and at once began to talk busily to one another, in artificial tones. Then Mamma came in, leading Constance by the hand. On her face was a smile of quiet content, but she was trembling with nervousness. She remained standing for a moment, looking through the crowded room. Constance van der Welcke, holding her mother's hand, also stopped. She was still a pretty woman, very pale, with hair beginning to go grey around her young and charming face, in which the dark eyes loomed big with anxiety; she still had the figure of a young woman; and she wore a black-satin gown. … There was a wait of a few seconds at the door, a pause just perceptible, yet poignant, as though a stubborn situation were being forced into the easier groove of polite manners and kind words, because of this sister's home-coming. But then Bertha came up and smiled, and found the kind word and the polite manner. She kissed her younger sister, said something charming. Mrs. van Lowe beamed. The other sisters and brothers followed, the nephews, the nieces. At last, one by one, they had all welcomed her. Constance had kissed them, or shaken hands; and she was deathly pale; and her black eyes trembled, misty with tears. Her voice broke, her hands shook, she felt a sinking at her knees. A passion of weeping was rising to her eyes; and she found it almost impossible to control herself. She kept hold of her mother's hand, like a child, sat down by her, tried to smile and to behave normally. Her words almost choked her; her breath throttled her. Her black eyes started from their sockets, quivering, in her deathly-pale face, and she shivered as though in a fever. She tried to do her best, to talk as though she had only been away a year. But it was no use. She had not set foot in those rooms since the day, twenty years ago, when she married De Staffelaer, the Dutch envoy at Rome. … Since then, so much had happened in Rome, oh, so much! Her life had happened, her life of mistake upon mistake. How could she talk the usual commonplaces now? She saw herself here, twenty years ago, coming back from church, in her white bridal dress; she saw her father, now dead; she saw De Staffelaer; she saw herself, after she had changed into her travelling-dress, saying good-bye, going away with De Staffelaer. … Since then … since then, she had never been back! Since then, her father had died! Since then, she had only twice seen her dear mother, for a moment, at Brussels. Oh, since then! … Since then, all her brothers and sisters had become strangers to her; and she herself had been a stranger, never in Holland, always abroad, always an alien. … Now … now she was back! Was it possible? Was it a dream? …
Her brother-in-law, Van Naghel, the cabinet-minister, came up to her:
"We are very glad to see you at the Hague, Constance."
"Thank you, Van Naghel."
"And shall we soon be making Van der Welcke's acquaintance?"
There was something in his words as though he were forcing the situation, for Mamma van Lowe's sake.
"He has some business to settle in Brussels. He will be here in a week."
It was very difficult to keep up the conversation; and he was silent.
"So one of your girl's is engaged?" she asked, tactfully diverting the talk from herself.
"Yes, Emilie, the second. Emilie!"
He beckoned to his daughter. Emilie came up, bringing Van Raven with her:
"May I introduce Mr. van Raven, Aunt Constance?"
"Van Raven." And she gave him her hand. "My best wishes for your happiness, Emilie."
"Thank you, Aunt."
"And there's another wedding in prospect," said Mamma. "Floortje and Dijkerhof. … "
And she beckoned to Floortje, who introduced Dijkerhof.
Meanwhile, the members of the family tried to behave as usual. They talked together, as though in ordinary conversation. Uncle Ruyvenaer arranged the parties at the card-tables:
"Karel, Toetie, Louise, Gerrit. … Bertha, Cateau, Van Saetzema, Ernst. … "
His voice marshalled the troops. The younger generation were put to play round games at a long table in the conservatory.
Constance gave a soft laugh:
"What a lot of us there are, Mamma, at your Sundays!"
What a lot of us: the word had a special charm for her.
Meanwhile, Uncle Ruyvenaer was teasing his two old sisters:
"Come Rientje and Tientje. … Don't you want to play bridge?"
"What?"
"Herman wants to know if you're going to play bridge?" screamed Auntie Tine in Auntie Rine's ear.
"Bridge?"
"Yes, if you want to play bridge? She is so deaf, Herman! … "
"They won't remember me," said Constance,