anded Adolphine.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?" cried Adolphine, beside herself because Constance
remained so cool at such a revelation. "Nothing? Oh, I expect you're
accustomed to have people talking about you. Well, I'm not, d'you see? I
have always been used to decency and respectability in my circle, among
my friends. No one ever talked about us before. No one ever said that
_I_ wasn't Papa's daughter...."

"You can't tell. There's time yet!" said Constance.

"Yes, you don't care!" Adolphine blubbered, furiously. "You, with your
stuck-up coolness, you're so eaten up with conceit that you don't take
anything to heart. I'm not like that. I'm sensitive, I'm easily
affected, it hurts me when people talk about us. But then I'm not used
to it as you are!"

And Adolphine kept squeezing the tears out of her eyes, wishing to
convey that she was misunderstood and misjudged and very sensitive;
wishing also to make Constance feel that it was Constance' fault and
that there was plenty more that was Constance' fault. Constance,
however, remained cool.

Though a single unfortunate word from her husband was enough to set her
nerves on edge and her temper seething, she kept calm and cold towards
her sister, because, after the fight between their boys, she had settled
accounts with Adolphine, written her off as it were; and this feeling
had depressed her too much to allow her now to excite herself into a
quarrel. She wondered if she was overdoing it; and, to settle the
matter, she said:

"I confess that I have never had such an experience of backbiting as
here, at the Hague; in Brussels, at any rate, no one ever doubted the
legitimacy of my child. But here--and even in your house,
Adolphine--people seem to think that he is not my husband's son."

"How can I help that?" Adolphine began to blubber.

"No, you can't help it; at least I'm prepared to believe you can't. But
I did hope that, if any one in your house spoke unkindly of your sister,
you would have stood up for her, against your children, who perhaps did
not quite realize all the mischief which their words might cause.... Let
me finish, Adolphine: I am quite calm and I want to tell you this
calmly.... If Addie had dared to speak of you in my presence as your
children must have spoken of me, I should have been very severe with
him. I was under the illusion that I might expect as much from you. I
thought that there was still a family-bond, a family-affection, a
fami