everything, Klaasje now looked at her book and even hummed softly as she showed herself the pictures.
Gerdy was pouring out Mathilde's tea. There it was again: she had spilt the milk; the tea-tray was one white puddle! However, she mopped it up with a tea-cloth and now handed the cup to Mathilde.
Mathilde tasted it:
"Did you put any sugar in?"
"Yes, one lump."
"I never take sugar."
"Oh! . . . Shall I give you another cup?"
"No, thanks. . . . Your tea is weak."
Gerdy's tea was her pride, always:
"Tea gets bitter after standing three quarters of an hour," she said, aggressively, "or, if you pour water on it, it gets weak."
"Then I must always come three quarters of an hour late, for your tea is always either bitter or weak."
"Then make your own tea. . . ."
But Gerdy saw Aunt Constance looking at her and said nothing more.
"Mamma," asked Mathilde, "do you know when Addie is coming back?"
"No, dear; to-morrow, I expect, or the next day."
"Haven't you had a card from him?"
"No, dear."
"Oh, I thought he would have written to you! . . . I might really have gone with him to Amsterdam."
"He had business to attend to. . . ."
"Well, I shouldn't have hindered him in his business. . . ."
She sat silent now and indifferent and looked at
