"Don't you like it? Then give it back at once."
"Why, no, Mummy: I think it awfully jolly to have a photograph of you . . ."
"Of my last mad mood. Now your mother is really going to grow old, my boy. Upon my word, I believe Truitje admires my portrait more than my son does! . . ."
"Oh, ma'am, I think it's splendid!"
"How many did you have done, Mummy?"
"Six. One for Granny, one for Uncle Gerrit, one for Uncle Paul, one for you, one for myself . . ."
"And one for Papa."
"Oh, Papa owns the original!"
"No, give your husband one."
"Henri!" she called.
He came in.
"Here's a portrait of your wife."
"Lovely!" he exclaimed. "That's awfully good! Thanks very much."
"Glad you like it. My husband and my hand-maid are satisfied, at any rate. My son thinks me a bundle of vanity . . . Oh, how glad I am to be back! . . . Here's the ball-dress. We'll put it away to-morrow. I shall never wear the thing again. A dress that cost six hundred francs for one wearing. Now we'll be old again and economical."
They all laughed, including Truitje.
"Oh, how glad I am to be back! . . . My own
