ce had at once
felt something of her father's house, in the old days: a big family; a
circle which took a faint colonial tinge from the presence of the great
Indian officials home from Java. Van Naghel had made his career through
the protection of his father-in-law, the late viceroy; and their set
also just grazed the edge of the diplomatic world and, of course,
included a number of the chief officials of the home government as well.
Although Constance had been only once, as yet, to their house, in the
midst of the bustle of rehearsals for the wedding-theatricals, she at
once felt something congenial there, something that was familiar to her,
something of her former home: an atmosphere of distinction, of
importance, which she had not known for many years past, but to which
she yet felt herself drawn through the innate, instinctive vanity which
she imagined was dead in her.

Constance was happy, though she still had a headache. Uncle Ruyvenaer
was fussy but gay, because he was winning, with Gerrit for his partner.
Bertha and Constance, their thoughts both far from the cards, went on
talking, played badly. Bertha was almost entirely grey, greyer even than
Mamma van Lowe. She had a rather ceremonious face and resembled her
father: she had his hard, stiff features, his hard, dark eyes, his thin
lips. Her eyes were always blinking, as though she had a difficulty in
seeing. And in her manner of talking there was something abstracted, as
though she were always thinking of something else. She was well-dressed,
simply, in good taste.

"I think it so nice that your house is a sort of replica of our old
house, when we were children," said Constance.

"Yes," said Bertha. "What are trumps?"

"You went diamonds yourself," said Gerrit, the cavalry-captain, tall,
broad-chested and fair. "Attend to your game, Sis."

"And you have a very busy home, I suppose, Bertha?"

"Yes," said Bertha, "very busy."

And she played the wrong card.

"I have known all that bustle myself," said Constance. "It was like that
in Rome, terribly busy: four or five things every day which you couldn't
possibly avoid...."

Bertha smiled vaguely; and Constance suddenly felt that she mustn't talk
about Rome. She winced: she could not mention De Staffelaer's name, must
ignore all that period of importance.... It suddenly upset her nerves,
for she had not reflected that, even among her brothers and sisters, she
would have to be careful, to exercise tact. S