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Rh Rome. Adolphine suspected Constance of looking down upon her; and Constance merely had a headache.

“And shall you call on many people?”

No, Constance thought not.

“Won’t you go to Court?”

No, Constance hadn’t given it a thought.

“Is your boy going to the high-school?”

No, he was to pass his examination for the grammar-school: Van der Welcke wanted him to go to one of the universities, later.

“What photographs are those?”

“Friends of ours, in Brussels.”

“Had you many friends there?”

“Not so many, latterly.”

Suddenly Constance’ eyes met Adolphine’s. And Constance did not see Adolphine’s hateful hostility: Constance saw only her sister, four years younger than herself, but worn out by a tiresome, difficult life, a life full of money-bothers, full of trouble with spoilt, disagreeable children, receiving no assistance from her husband, Van Saetzema, who was chief clerk at the Ministry of Justice; Constance saw her sister, thin, yellow, eaten up with worry and bitterness, in her almost shabby and yet pretentious clothes. And, notwithstanding her raging headache, she was filled with pity, because Adolphine was her sister. She rose and went to Adolphine:

“Phine,” she said, frankly, “don’t be angry if I am not very talkative, but I have such a headache. And I really do think it nice of you to look me up.