and, for the rest, try and be happy ourselves? That's the great thing."
Van der Welcke laughed:
"What an easy solution, Marianne!"
"Tell me, Uncle: do you do a lot of good?"
"No."
"Are you happy?"
"Sometimes . . ."
"Not always . . . I don't do any good either, or not much. I am happy . . . sometimes. You see, I don't go very far, even according to my own superficial creed. Uncle, are we very insignificant, should you say?"
"Who, baby?"
"You and I! Much more insignificant than Brauws?"
"I think so."
"Are we small?"
"Small?"
"Yes, are we small souls . . . and is he . . . is he a big one?"
"Perhaps, Marianne."
"Yes, I'm a small one. And you too . . . I think. He's not. No, he's one of the big ones . . . though he is eating pâté just now. But I, a small soul, shall always like small souls best. I like you much better than him."
"And yet he is more interesting than I; and one doesn't come across many big souls."
