ashamed especially because she had allowed herself to wander along that luminous thread, the path of her dream . . . She rang, had the lamps lit and waited for Addie, who would soon be home.
But those were the lonely afternoons . . . Sometimes in those wet, dull afternoons when it grew dark so early, she saw his figure pass the window, heard him ring. It was Brauws. She did not move and she heard him go upstairs first, when Van der Welcke was in. But, since he had recommenced his visits to their house, he had got into the way of saying to Van der Welcke, in half an hour or so:
"Now I'll go and pay my respects to your wife."
The first few times, Van der Welcke had gone with him to the drawing-room; but, now that Brauws had taken to calling in a more informal fashion, Van der Welcke stayed upstairs, let him go his own way. And, after the first shock which Brauws' ideas had produced in their house, his friendship became something cheering and comforting which both Van der Welcke and Constance continued to appreciate for their own and each other's sakes. He and Van Vreeswijck were now the only friends whom they both really liked, the two regular visitors to their otherwise lonely house. And for that reason Van der Welcke let Brauws go to Constance alone, staying away, never entering his wife's drawing-room unnecessarily . . . except when he heard the little bells of Marianne's voice and laugh.
