Part 2 (1/2)
”Oh, mustn't I talk about Constance? There's always something in our family one mustn't talk about.... It's beyond me!”
And Uncle began to stride up and down the rooms again, rubbing his hands, which were still cold.
Two very old aunts entered. They were the Miss Ruyvenaers, very old ladies, turned eighty and looking more than that, unmarried sisters of Uncle and of Mrs. van Lowe. Their names were Dorine and Christine; but the younger generations called them Auntie Rine and Auntie Tine:
”So nice of you,” said Mrs. van Lowe. ”So nice....”
”What?” asked Auntie Rine.
”So nice of you, Dorine!” screamed Mrs. van Lowe in her ear.
”Marie says,” screamed Auntie Tine, ”it's so nice of you ... to come to-night.... Dorine is so deaf, Marie.... Really, she's getting unbearable....”
Auntie Tine was the young one, the tetchy one, the bitter one; Auntie Rine was the older one, the good-natured, deaf one. Outwardly, the two old ladies resembled each other and looked like old prints in their antiquated dresses; they wore black lace caps on the grey hair that framed their faces, which were wrinkled like a walnut.
The old ladies went and sat far apart; and it was strange to see them sitting at either end of the drawing-room, quietly, watching attentively, not saying much....
Now the others came, gradually. The first to arrive were the Van Saetzemas: Adolphine, her husband, Floortje, Caroline, Marietje and three noisy boys, all younger than their sisters; next came Gerrit and his wife Adeline: their children were still in the nursery; next, Karel and Cateau, still digesting their good dinner and their good wine; Ernst entered, gloomy, timid, queer and shy, as usual; Paul followed: he was the youngest son, thirty-five, good-looking, fair-haired and excessively well-dressed; last came the Van Naghels, Bertha and her husband, the colonial secretary, with their children: the three elder girls, Louise, Emilie, with Van Raven, her future husband, and Marianne; young Karel; and another Marietje: the two undergraduates were away, this time, at Leiden. There was a general humming and buzzing: the uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces exchanged greetings; many of them had not seen one another all the week; but they made it a rule to meet at Mamma's Sundays. And this evening there was great excitement among them all, though they restrained it for Mamma's sake: a mutual whispering and asking of opinions, because Constance was returning to the Hague, to her family, after twenty years' absence.
Adolphine overwhelmed her eldest sister, Bertha van Naghel van Voorde, with a torrent of whispered words:
”It's Mamma's wish,” said Bertha, laconically, blinking her eyes.
”But what do you think? What does Van Naghel think? You surely can't think it pleasant....”
”Constance is our sister....”
”Our sister, our sister! If my sister misconducts herself....”
”Adolphine, Constance has been married to Van der Welcke for fourteen years; and there comes a time when one overlooks....”
”But what are you going to do? Will you have her at your house?”
”Yes, of course.”
Adolphine had it at the tip of her jealous tongue to say, ”And I suppose you'll ask her to your big dinners,” but she restrained herself.
The younger nephews and nieces were also busily talking:
”Isn't she here yet?”
”No, she's coming later.”
”Is she old?”
”She's between Uncle Gerrit and Aunt Adolphine....”
”How nervous Grandmamma is!”
”Oh, she doesn't strike me so!...”