ffelaer's. She had already been
reflecting that it would be her duty to write to Mrs. van Eilenburgh, to
send her word officially of her wish to be presented; and she had also
reflected that the mistress of the robes was De Staffelaer's niece. But
the fact that the first lady to whom Bertha introduced her should be a
blood-relation of the husband from whom she was divorced made her shiver
superstitiously. She did not show this, however, and, without taking any
great trouble to make herself amiable or sociable, she remained sitting
where she was, so that Marianne now came up to her:

"How nice of you, Auntie, to look in on Mamma's day."

"She doesn't mean a word of it," thought Constance.

But it was awkwardness and astonishment, rather than insincerity, that
made Marianne speak as she did. She could never have imagined that Aunt
Constance should call on those at-home days, any more than the other
aunts and uncles did, because their respective acquaintances were so
entirely different.

"We were so busy in the spring, getting settled," said Constance, very
calmly. "You remember, the furniture had to come from Brussels. But this
autumn I thought I would pay my respects to Mamma. After all, I can't go
on ignoring Mamma and only seeing her when she is in her bedroom with a
headache!"

Marianne's surprise increased. Aunt Constance said this so calmly, so
very calmly, as though it were quite a matter of course that she should
call on an at-home day. And Marianne could not refrain from saying:

"Yes, it's very nice of you to come. For, you see, the aunts never come:
Aunt Adeline never and Aunt Cateau never and Aunt Ruyvenaer only very
seldom."

"Oh, really?" asked Constance, innocently. "Don't they ever come?"

"Auntie Ruyvenaer just once in a way; but the other aunts never."

"Oh? Don't they?" asked Constance, putting on an air of great surprise
and rather playing with Marianne's bewilderment.

"Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't know. But I don't call that very civil of the aunts. It's
different with the uncles: men are not expected to pay visits. But I'm
surprised at the two aunts, Marianne."

Marianne did not know what to say. She was not accustomed to weigh her
words or to think that another might say things which she did not really
mean. Nervously constituted as she was, she had something candid about
her, something honest and frank.

"Well, I shall tell them," said Constance, with a laugh, "that they owe
th