family-affection was very strong, declared that they were in their right place there, even though Uncle Ruyvenaer was only her half-brother and Auntie very Indian; for Mamma van Lowe carried her family-pride to the point of maintaining that all that formed part of the family was good. To be related to the Van Lowes seemed, in a sense, to ennoble, to exalt, to improve the very stock. And so she always looked severe when her children—Gerrit, Adolphine and Paul—laughed at Aunt Ruyvenaer and the Indian nieces, who were good children, always cheerful, always amiable, bright and pleasant.

Uncle was very noisy, strode up and down the rooms, with straddling legs, to warm himself:

"So we shall see Constance here to-night? Well, it's a long time since we did. Let me see: how long is it? How long is it, Marie? Twenty years? Yes, it must be twenty years! At least, I haven't seen her since she married De Staffelaer! Lord, what a sweet child she was! What a sweet, pretty child! Twenty years ago: why, it's an age! She must have grown old! Yes, of course she must: she must have grown old! How old is she? It's easy to reckon: she must be forty-two, eh? And Van der Welcke is a nice fellow, what? Very decent of him, I'm bound to say, very decent...."

Mamma van Lowe turned very white; Dorine gave an angry look; Toetie Ruyvenaer pulled Papa's sleeve:

"Allah,[4] that Papa!" she whispered, good-naturedly, to her sister Dotje. "No tact...."

"Ye-es," Aunt Ruyvenaer began in a fat, slow voice, "was it so long ago? Kassian!"[5] she added, sympathetically. "Poor Constance! I'm so glad I'm going to see her!"

"Papa!" said Poppie Ruyvenaer, the youngest.

"What is it?"

"How can you?"

"What?"

"You're upsetting Aunt Marie: don't you see?"

"But, good Lord...!"

"Oh, do stop about Constance."

"What have I said?..."

"If you don't stop, you'll make Aunt Marie cry. Don't you understand?..."

"Oh, mustn't I talk about Constance? There's always something in our family one mustn't talk about.... It's beyond me!"

And Uncle began to stride up and down the rooms again, rubbing his hands, which were still cold.

Two very old aunts entered. They were the Miss Ruyvenaers, very old ladies, turned eighty and looking more than that, unmarried sisters of Uncle and of Mrs. van Lowe. Their names were Dorine and Christine; but the younger generations called them Auntie Rine and Auntie Tine:

"So nice of you," said Mrs. van Lowe. "So nice...."

"What?" asked Auntie Rine.

"So nice of you, Dorine!" screamed Mrs. van Lowe in her ear.

"Marie says," screamed Auntie Tine, "it's so nice of you ... to come to-night.... Dorine is so deaf, Marie.... Really, she's getting unbearable...."

Auntie Tine was the young one, the tetchy one, the bitter one; Auntie Rine was the older one, the good-natured, deaf one. Outwardly, the two old ladies resembled each other and looked like old prints in their antiquated dresses; they wore black lace caps on the grey hair that framed their faces, which were wrinkled like a walnut.

The old ladies went and sat far apart; and it was strange to see them sitting at either end of the drawing-room, quietly, watching attentively, not saying much....

Now the others came, gradually. The first to arrive were the Van Saetzemas: Adolphine, her husband, Floortje, Caroline, Marietje and three noisy boys, all younger than their sisters; next came Gerrit and his wife Adeline: their children were still in the nursery; next, Karel and Cateau, still digesting their good dinner and their good wine; Ernst entered, gloomy, timid, queer and shy, as usual; Paul followed: he was the youngest son, thirty-five, good-looking, fair-haired and excessively well-dressed; last came the Van Naghels, Bertha and her husband, the colonial secretary, with their children: the three elder girls, Louise, Emilie, with Van Raven, her future husband, and Marianne; young Karel; and 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