Part 7 (1/2)
Adolphine sat down, for she was paying Karel and Cateau a visit; and, if she had not sat down, the visit would not have been paid, would not have counted as a visit. Perhaps that was also the reason why Karel and Cateau urged Adolphine to sit down: otherwise, she would have been obliged to come back another day.
They all sat down: the brother, the sister, the sister-in-law. Outside, the rain was pouring in torrents; and already the brougham was glistening with the wet: Cateau's saucer-eyes watched every drop through the curtains. The usual drawing-room talk began:
”What terrible wea-ther, isn't it, Adolph-ine?”
”Terrible.”
Adolphine was thin, angular, envious, badly-dressed. Beside the prosperous, opulent respectability of Karel and Cateau, sleek with good living, heavy with comfort, radiating money and ease--Karel in his thick frieze great-coat, Cateau in a rich silk dress and a rich fur-trimmed jacket, with a rich toque crowning her round, pink-and-white, full-moon face--Adolphine looked shabby, peevish and pretentious. The stuff of her clothes could not compare with Cateau's, which were eloquent of money, good, substantial money; and yet Adolphine had certain pretentions to fas.h.i.+on and elegance. A thin, straggling boa wound its length around her neck. Her fringe, out of curl because of the wet, hung in rats'-tails from under a shabby little hat, draped in a limp veil. It was as though Adolphine felt this, for she said, enviously:
”I didn't trouble to put on anything decent, in this beastly rain.”
Cateau looked meaningly at the carriage outside:
”So you're going to Con-stance' al-so?...”
”Yes. But when will Van der Welcke be here? Saetzema is waiting to pay his visit until Van der Welcke comes....”
”You see?” said Karel to Cateau.
”Oh?” asked Cateau, drawling her words more than ever. ”Is Saet-zema wait-ing until Van der Wel-cke comes?... Oh, I told Karel to come with me because, per-haps, it wouldn't look friend-ly.... What do you think of Con-stance, Adolphine? Karel thinks his sis-ter so al-tered, so al-tered....”
”Yes, she's altered. She has grown old, very old,” said Adolphine, who, herself four years younger than Constance, looked decidedly older.
”Oh, I don't know!” said Karel, trying to defend his sister. ”You would never say she was forty-two....”
”Oh, is she forty-_two_?” drawled Cateau.
”I'll tell you what I think,” said Adolphine. ”I don't think Constance looks a bit distinguished.”
When Adolphine was envious and jealous--and that was generally--she said the exact opposite of what she thought in her heart.
”Not a bit distinguished!” she repeated, with conviction. ”There is something in the way she does her hair, in those rings of hers--I don't know--something not quite respectable....”
”Yes, something foreign,” said Karel, feebly, by way of an excuse.
”I think,” said Cateau, ”Con-stance has something about her that's not quite prop-er....”
”Oh,” said Adolphine, ”but propriety isn't her strong point!”
”Never was,” grinned Karel, in his turn.
”If she had only stayed in Brussels!” snapped Adolphine.
”Ah!” said Cateau, opening big owl's eyes. ”Do _you_ think so _too_?”
”Yes. And you?”
”So do _we_, re-ally,” drawled Cateau, more cheerfully, forgetting the brougham waiting in the wet.
”Yes,” said Adolphine, with conviction. ”What are we to do with a sister like that?”