it. We're all suffering on your account. Your poor mother's suffering."
"Does she talk about it to you?"
"No, we never talk much together, as you know, but still . . ."
"Do you understand each other better?"
"No, but that's not the question. The question at this moment is your happiness. . . ."
"Father, I am not unhappy. Things are really all right with me."
"You've got that cold, distant voice, my boy, which I know so well in you, which you put on when you're hiding yourself and not facing things. I never mistake it."
Van der Welcke got up, walked restlessly across the room, all blue with smoke, walked back again and suddenly stopped in front of Addie and took his son's head in his two hands:
"My boy, why was it necessary that your fate should be the same as your father's, an unhappy marriage?"
"Father . . ."
"Don't deny it. Why should you? Aren't we two friends who have always known all about each other? As a child, you were my friend. We were always like brothers. Why must your fate be the same as your father's, an unhappy marriage? You, who are so clever where others are concerned. . . ."
Addie suddenly clutched hold of his father. Van der Welcke continued:
"Why must you always know so little that will help yourself? . . . At the time, I raised no objection. You were fond of the woman; you always knew your mind with such certainty; I thought that you knew things for yourself; I let you have your way. I was jealous because you were getting mar-
