You’re afraid of criticism, because you fear that, where so much criticism is passed, in such a hot-bed of criticism as our family, you yourself will not escape a severe judgment. But let me tell you now that you don’t know humanity, the humanity of small people. Small people criticize—because they think it fun, as Gerrit says—criticize a dress, or an evening-party, but they never criticize life. To begin with, they’re afraid to: small people are interested only in what is not serious, in what is really not worth while.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Constance. “That’s a clever phrase, Paul, and nothing more. I am becoming distrustful. When I hear so much criticizing—even from Mamma—on Adolphine, I ask myself, ‘What will my mother, what will my brothers and sisters find to say of me? . . .’ Oh, perhaps it can’t be helped; perhaps everything is insincere, in our set!”
“But not in our family,” said Gerrit.
“You say that, Gerrit, with a nice sound in your voice.”
“The captain of hussars with the nice sound in his voice!” said Paul.
“You silly boy! Be serious for a moment, if you can! I am frightened, I am frightened. Honestly, it makes me nervous. Perhaps I did wrong, perhaps I ought not to have come back here, to the Hague, among all of you. . . .”
“Are you so disappointed in your brothers and sisters?” asked Gerrit.
