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Rh shouted. “We don’t mean to leave off till we have a dozen, do we, Line?”

“Gerrit, you’re quite mad!”

“Oh, but I say, Constance, why leave that lad of yours all by himself? It’s not good for a child.”

“No, Gerrit, it’s best as it is. It would not make us any happier to have a lot of children.”

“I say, you were indiscreet enough to ask if we were happy; now it’s my turn. I don’t believe that you and your husband get on so very well together.”

“Oh, well, we understand each other! Perhaps not even that! But Addie keeps us together. We both dote on him. Van der Welcke dotes on his boy. So do I. So do I. He is everything, both to him. . . and to me. . . .” Her eyes filled with tears. “We are nothing now. . . to each other!” She was sitting between Gerrit and Adeline. “I did so want all of you!” she continued, taking each of them by the hand. “Be nice to me, will you? I am simply pining for affection. My child is all to me, but he is still so young; and I tell him too much as it is. . . . Heavens, what a life I have had these last few years! No, you were not kind! Why did you never, never once come to me, in Brussels?”

“But, Constance dear,” said Gerrit, “if we had only known that you would have liked us to! Remember, you never sent us a line. You only wrote to Mamma; and she did go to see you once or twice. Own up: we had become strangers.”

“Let us be friends again, then! Be nice to me! Your dear little wife. . . I don’t know her. . ..