There was a big official dinner at Van Naghel's; and the guests were expected in three-quarters of an hour.
"Mamma," whined Huigje to Frances, as she was dressing, "what's happening?"
"There are people coming," said Frances, without looking up.
"What sort of people, Mamma?"
"Oh, there's a dinner-party, dear!" said Frances, irritably.
Huigje did not know what a dinner-party was:
"What's dinner-party?" he asked his little sister Ottelientje.
"Things to eat," said Ottelientje, importantly.
"Things to eat?"
"Yes, nice things . . . ices."
"Shall we have dinner-party, Mamma, and ices?" whined Huigje.
"Allah,[1] baboe,[2] keep the sinjo[3] with you! . . . But, baboe, do me up first."
Otto, who now had a billet at the Foreign Office, came in, followed by Louise.
"Oh, aren't you dressing, Louise?" said Frances.
"No, I'm not going down," she answered. "I
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