Small Souls Part 3

It was very difficult to keep up the conversation; and he was silent.

"So one of your girl's is engaged?" she asked, tactfully diverting the talk from herself.

"Yes, Emilie, the second. Emilie!"

He beckoned to his daughter. Emilie came up, bringing Van Raven with her:

"May I introduce Mr. van Raven, Aunt Constance?"

"Van Raven." And she gave him her hand. "My best wishes for your happiness, Emilie."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"And there's another wedding in prospect," said Mamma. "Floortje and Dijkerhof...."

And she beckoned to Floortje, who introduced Dijkerhof.

Meanwhile, the members of the family tried to behave as usual. They talked together, as though in ordinary conversation. Uncle Ruyvenaer arranged the parties at the card-tables:

"Karel, Toetie, Louise, Gerrit.... Bertha, Cateau, Van Saetzema, Ernst...."

His voice marshalled the troops. The younger generation were put to play round games at a long table in the conservatory.

Constance gave a soft laugh:

"What a lot of us there are, Mamma, at your Sundays!"

What a lot of _us_: the word had a special charm for her.

Meanwhile, Uncle Ruyvenaer was teasing his two old sisters:

"Come Rientje and Tientje.... Don't you want to play bridge?"

"What?"

"Herman wants to know if you're going to play bridge?" screamed Auntie Tine in Auntie Rine's ear.

"Bridge?"

"Yes, if you want to play bridge? She _is_ so deaf, Herman!..."

"They won't remember me," said Constance, speaking of the old aunts.

"They must have forgotten me in these twenty years. How old they have grown, Mamma!... How old we have all grown! Bertha is grey. I am going grey myself. ... And all those little nieces, all those young nephews whom I have never seen.... Do they always come, on Sundays?"

"Yes, child, every Sunday. There's a great kindness and affection among them all. I always think that so delightful."

"We are a large family. I am glad to be here, but they are still like strangers to me. How many of us are there here, Mamma?"

"Oh, quite thirty! Let me see...." Mamma van Lowe counted on her fingers. "Uncle and Aunt Ruyvenaer, with Toetie and Dot and Poppie and Piet and young Herman: that makes seven; then, Van Naghel and Bertha, with the four girls and Karel: that's seven more; fourteen...."

Constance listened to her mother's addition, and smiled.... Twenty years, twenty years ago! She felt as though she could have burst out sobbing; but she controlled herself, smiled, stroked Mamma's hand:

"Mamma, dear Mamma.... I am so glad to be back among you all!"

"Dear child!"

"They have all received me so nicely. So simply."

"Why, of course, Connie. You're their sister."

Constance was silent.... Dorine, with two of the young nieces, poured out the tea, brought it round:

"Have a cup, Constance? Milk? Sugar?"

How familiar and pleasant it sounded, just as though she were really one of them, as though she always had been one of them: "Have a cup, Constance?" ... As if it wasn't the first cup of tea she had had there for years and years!... Dear Dorine! Constance remembered her as a girl of seventeen, shy, not yet out, but even then caring, always caring, for others. She was not pretty, she was even plain, ungraceful, clumsy, badly-dressed....

"Yes, Dorine, I should like a cup.... Come here, Dorine. Sit down and talk to me: the girls can see to the tea."

She drew Dorine to the sofa beside her and nestled between her mother and her sister:

"Tell me, Dorine, do you still look after everybody so well? Do you still pour the tea?"

Her voice had a broken sound, full of a melancholy that permeated her simple, bantering words. Dorine made some vague reply.

"When I went away," said Constance, "you were not seventeen. You were always cutting bread-and-b.u.t.ter for Bertha's children. Otto and Louise were seven and five then; Emilie was a baby. Now she's engaged...."

She smiled, but her eyes were full of tears, her breast heaved.

"My dear child," said the old lady.

"It's a long time ago, Connie," said Dorine.

It was twenty years since any one had called her Connie.

"So you're thirty-six now, Dorine?"

"Yes, Connie, thirty-six," said Dorine, uncomfortable, as usual, when anybody spoke of her; and she felt her smooth, flat hair, to see if it was drawn well back.

"You've changed very little, Dorine."

"Do you think so, Connie?"

"I am very glad of it.... Will you like me a little, Dorine?"

"Why, of course, Connie."

"My dear child," said the old lady, much moved.