smarting sting . . . But suddenly, in the dark room, in the silent house—the servant was no longer singing—Van der Welcke woke, drew himself up, rubbed his neck, which was stiff with lying down.
"Well, you've had a good long nap!" said Addie, making his voice sound rough.
There was nothing in that voice and in the boyish phrase to suggest the jealousy, the melancholy and the great sorrow that was weighing down his childish soul.
Van der Welcke seemed to be waking up to life and reality after his vain attempt to lose himself in that mad devouring of distance. He remembered his conversation with his wife, in which she had been so unusually gentle, so indulgent, showing such self-effacement and self-sacrifice . . . so much indeed that he had had to kiss her in spite of himself.
"I have been speaking to Mamma," said he.
But he was silent again, could get no further.
"So have I," said Addie, to make it easier for him.
But he also did not know what to say; and they remained sitting side by side in the dark dining-room, both staring at the shaft of yellow light that streamed across the garden from the villa at the back. Each now knew, however, that the other knew; and Addie threw his arm over his father's shoulder, almost protectingly.
