sion—with himself, or the world, or both—a smile which sometimes broke into his big, resonant laugh. He smiled and at last said, very slowly:
"But I hardly dare confess to you, my dear Hans, what I did in America. I don't talk about that time as a rule, because it all sounds so strange, now that I am sitting at table with you and your wife and your son. Perhaps, if I tell you what I did do in America, Mrs. van der Welcke, after the first shock; of surprise, will shudder at having invited such a queer person to her table and probably think me a very bad example for Addie. So don't let's talk about myself or what I did in America."
But Van der Welcke had grown inquisitive:
"No, my dear fellow, you sha'n't get out of it like that. I can't imagine that you did anything in America that Addie mustn't hear about; and in any case he needn't take you for his model. But I'm burning with curiosity and I insist on knowing what you were up to in America. Not lecturing on Peace all the time? . . ."
"No, not even once."
"Well, what then?"
"But, Hans, what's the good of talking about myself to this extent?"
"We're all interested, Mr. Brauws," said Constance. "We certainly are. But, if you would rather not talk about those days, we will not be indiscreet."
