If she hasn't she has been flirting with him horribly.

XXII

It was like finding an old friend to see Mr. van Buren waiting to meet
us at quaint little Volendam. He explained that Freule Menela had gone
to Brussels to pay a visit; so, hearing from me when we would arrive, he
ran out to inquire how his cousin was getting on. When his fiancee came
back, he said, he would bring her and his sisters to see us.

Our first sight of Volendam was at sunset. Everything seemed so
beautiful, and I felt so happy walking up to the hotel where we were to
spend the night, that I should have liked to sing. Great clouds had
boiled up out of the west; but underneath, a wonderful, almost
supernatural light streamed over the sea. The sky was indigo, and the
water a sullen lead color; but along the horizon blazed a belt of gold,
and the sails on a fleet of fishing-boats were scarlet, like a bed of
red geraniums blooming in the sea.

It was in this strange light that we walked from the harbor up the main
street of the village, which is a long dyke of black Norwegian granite,
protecting little pointed-roofed houses, the lower stories of a sober
color, the upper ones with the peaked gables pea-green or blue, and the
sabots of the family lying on the door-steps. Here and there in a window
were a few bits of gaudy china for sale, or a sabot over a door as the
sign of a shoe-shop; but we hardly looked at the houses, so interesting
were their inmates, who seemed to be all in the street.

Along the dyke squatted a double row of men, old and young--mostly old;
but all as brown as if they had been carved out of oak. Every one had a
tight-fitting jersey and enormously baggy trousers, like those other men
round the corner of the Zuider Zee at Marken. But at Marken the jerseys
were dark and here of the most wonderful crimson; the new ones the shade
of a Jacqueminot rose, the faded ones like the lovely roses which Nell
calls "American beauties."

There they sat, tailor-fashion, with their legs crossed and their cloth
or fur caps tilted over their eyes as they smoked (very handsome, bold
eyes, some of them!) and, passing up and down, up and down in front of
the row as if in review, with a musical clatter of sabots, bands of
women, lovely girls, and charming little buttons of children.

Nell and I admired the costumes more than at Marken, though they're not
as striking, only innocently pretty. But I can't imagine anything more
becoming than