Constance' heart beat when she heard Brauws' voice on the stairs:
"Now I'll go and pay my respects to your wife. She's at home, isn't she?"
"Sure to be, in this beastly weather."
She heard Brauws' step, which made the stairs creak as it came down them. Then she felt a violent emotion, of which she was secretly ashamed, ashamed for herself. For she was severe with herself: she was afraid of becoming ridiculous in her own eyes. When she felt her emotion grow too violent, she at once conjured up Addie's image: he was fourteen now. The mother of a son of fourteen! Then a smile of ironic indulgence would curve the dimples by her lips; and it was with the greatest composure that she welcomed Brauws:
"Isn't it dark early? But it's only half-past three and really too soon to light the lamp."
"There are times when twilight upsets me," he said, "and times when it makes me feel very calm and peaceful."
He sat down near her, contentedly, and his broad figure loomed darkly in the little room, among the other shadows. The street-lamps were already lighted outside, glittering harshly on the wet road.
"It's been awful weather lately."
"Yes, so I prefer to stay indoors."
"You're too much indoors."
"I go out whenever it's fine."
