has very nice
manners, but, when he says, 'How d'ye do, Aunt?' it sounds as if he were
talking to a stranger."

"Oh, Bertha, he is meeting such a lot of new uncles and aunts all at
once!"

"He is a very nice boy. A handsome little fellow. Is he like his
father?"

"Yes," said Constance, grudgingly.

She felt again that the past had cropped up once more. She felt that
Bertha was thinking that Van der Welcke was a very good-looking man--she
had seen his portrait at Mamma's--and that was why Constance had fallen
in love with him.

But Gerrit laughed:

"Why do you say that in such a funny way, Sissy?"

"Did I?"

"One would think that you did not approve of your son's taking after his
father!"

Constance was grateful: Gerrit was so easy, so natural; and she laughed:

"What nonsense!"

"Do you think I can't hear? 'Is he like his father?' 'Ye-e-es!' ..."

Of a sudden, she became very sincere, with Gerrit:

"Did I speak like that? Yes, it's silly of me, but I am a little jealous
of Van der Welcke, where Addie is concerned. Silly of me, isn't it?"

Bertha looked severe, blinked her eyes. Uncle gathered in trick after
trick:

"Game and rubber to us. We'll carry on the stakes, shall we?"

The sandwiches and drinks went round.

"Gerrit," said Constance, as she moved her chair beside his, "you're
happy, aren't you, in your house, with your little wife and your
children?"

Gerrit looked surprised:

"Why do you ask?"

"I had the impression."

"But why do you ask?"

"Well, aren't you?..."

"Yes, of course, of course. Of course I am, of course I am. Adeline!"

He beckoned to his wife, a plump, fair-haired little doll, a dear, sweet
little woman of twenty-eight: she had seven children already, because
Gerrit, who had married rather late in life, said that he must make up
for lost time and get a whole troop together.

"Constance wants to know if we're happy."

"Silly Constance! Why, of course we are!" said Adeline.

"You have a dear little troop of children."

"Your boy is a darling, too."

They smiled, happy in their offspring. Gerrit, restless, moved his big
limbs almost violently:

"Children, that's the one thing in life!" he 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