mong the relations; and, with the
kindliness of a nature used to the little Indian scandals, she thought
it exaggerated. Moreover, Cateau's Dutch arrogance in speaking of "the
East" had put her quite out of temper; and she flung her cards on the
table and said:

"_Soedah_, I won't play with you any more!"

And, without further explanation, she broke up the table and walked
straight to Constance, who sat talking to Paul in a corner:

"I'm coming to sit with you a bit, Constance!"

"Do, Auntie."

"What I want to say to you is, don't mind about it! Shake it off your
cold clothes![30] What does it matter? Hor-r-rible article! But I tell
you: shake it off your cold clothes!"

And Auntie talked away, suddenly lighting on all sorts of queer Dutch
words and expressions, told Constance of horrible articles in India
which people out there had shaken off their cold clothes.

At this moment, Bertha, Van Naghel and Marianne arrived, very late.
Mamma at once went up to them. The people in the two rooms now made some
attempt to adopt an attitude; and their excitement cooled down. But it
struck them all that Van Naghel looked exceedingly tired, Bertha pale
and Marianne as though she had been crying; her eyes were specks under
her swollen lids. They exchanged vague, almost doleful good-evenings,
giving a hand here, a kiss there....

After all the agitation, a gloom descended upon the family. The voices
sank into a whisper. And, through the whispering, suddenly, the voices
of the two old aunts sounded piercingly, as they spoke to the Van
Naghels:

"Yes, yes, I remember you, I know you. Good-evening, Van Naghel."

"Good-evening, Aunt."

"Good-evening, Toetie. Yes, yes, I know you: you're Toetie, Van Naghel's
wife. And who's that?"

"That's my girl, Auntie: Marianne. And I'm Bertha...."

"Oh, yes, that's Emilietje!" Auntie Tine screamed in Auntie Rine's ear,
in a moment of sudden and not yet perfect lucidity. "That's Toetie's
daughter Emilie-etje!"

"No, Auntie, Emilie is married!"

"What d'you say? Is she dead?"

"No," screamed Auntie Tine, "Floortje, Floortje is married! This is
Emilie-etje!"

"Oh, I see! Good-evening, Emilietje."

A smile lit up gloomy features here and there. The aunts never knew any
one properly, were always a little muddled among all those nephews and
nieces of a later generation. And, as a rule, nobody troubled for more
than a moment to remind them of the real names. With the stubbornness of