all that she must have and all that she meant to have; for, without it, life wasn't worth living. To go on vegetating at Baarn, with that incessant rumbling of the trains, which made the walls of the villa shake as if the whole house were going to tumble down on her head: never! She had made up her mind to that: never!
Marianne came into the room, which was her own boudoir, with a conservatory leading into the garden: it was the pleasantest room in the house; the only others on the ground-floor were a small drawing-room and a gloomy dining-room. Marietje, lost in thought, was staring out at the sunny, dusty white road.
"Shall we go for a walk, Marietje?" asked Marianne.
"Beukenkom?" asked Marietje, languidly.
"No, farther than that . . ."
"Soestdijk?"
"No, farther still, through the Overbosch and across the moor, if you like."
"No, thank you: it's too hot and there's too much dust and glare. Can't we hire the pony-cart? Then I'll drive you."
"That mounts up, you know, Marietje; we can't take it every morning."
"Every morning!" growled Marietje. "Listen to you: every morning! . . . Well, then let's stay and look out of the window."
