he had come to them just
because she wanted to be able to let herself go, to be frank and
natural; but she felt strongly that Bertha disapproved of her for
venturing to refer to Rome. She would have liked to talk about Rome,
partly from vanity, to remind her sister, the wife of a minister, who
was "in the movement," that she too had known greatness and lived in the
midst of it. But she felt that she must be humble, that she was nothing
more than Mrs. van der Welcke, the sister who had made a false step in
life, who had married her "lover" and who, years after, had been taken
into favour by the charity of the family. This was clearly expressed in
Bertha's hard, ceremonious Van Lowe face, with the blinking eyes, even
though Bertha spoke not a word.

Constance was silent, went on playing; Uncle Ruyvenaer was noisy,
cracked his jokes:

"The queen falls," he said, in his fat voice. "One more unfortunate!" he
shouted, clamorously.

And, playing his ace, with a wide sweep of his hand he gathered in the
trick. Constance went pale; and Bertha blinked her eyes till they closed
entirely. But Bertha was too much used to Uncle's astounding vulgarities
to be much disturbed by them and she answered her partner's call
correctly.

Constance kept her presence of mind, played her cards. She could have
burst into one of her nervous fits of sobbing, but she restrained
herself, knowing that Uncle was tactless, noisy and common, but that he
would never hurt her wilfully. And she was grateful to Gerrit when he
came to her assistance:

"What a nice lad that boy of yours is, Constance."

"My Addie? Yes."

"A bit dignified for his years, but otherwise a fine little chap."

"He's always very good to me. We both dote on him."

"You must let him come to us often. Our house is one big nursery; and
he'll keep young among that troop of mine."

"Very well, Gerrit, gladly. It's very kind of you."

"What is he going to be?"

"Van der Welcke wants him to go to the university first and then into
the diplomatic service."

"Is that his line?"

"I don't know.... He's a little too stiff, perhaps.... But he's so young
still."

"Send him to lunch with us on Wednesday; and then he can go for a walk
with my crowd."

"Very well, I'll tell him."

"Yes," said Bertha, more cordially, as though waking from a dream. "He's
a charming boy, only a little stiff."

"He's still rather strange here."

"He is very polite," said Bertha, "but distant. He