nothing in the Dwarskijker. She stayed at home that day too, as it was raining hard, and she saw nobody. At half-past eight in the evening, she went to Mamma van Lowe’s in a cab, with Van der Welcke and Addie. And Constance, the moment she entered, saw that there was a certain excitement among the members of the family, all of whom were present. Even Mamma seemed uneasy about something; and she at once said to Constance:
“You were at Bertha’s on Tuesday, child. . . .”
“Yes. . . .”
“Why didn’t you ask me first, Connie?”
“Is a visit to Bertha such a very important matter, Mamma?”
“No, no,” said the old woman, deprecatingly, “not that . . .”
But the old aunts arrived:
“How are you, Marie?”
“How are you, Dorine and Christine? So nice of you to come.”
“What d’you say?” asked Auntie Rine.
“Marie says . . . it’s so nice of you to co-o-ome!” screamed Auntie Tine.
“Oh, ah! Did she say so? Yes, yes. . . . And who’s that? . . .”
“That’s Constance,” said the old lady.
“Who?”
“That’s Marie’s daughter!” screamed Auntie Tine. “Marie’s daugh-ter!”
“Whose daughter?”
“Marie’s?”
