Once more Frederik started to go.
"Will rich men never learn wisdom?" soliloquised Dr. McPherson as he began to prepare some medicine for Willem.
"No, they won't," Frederik flung back over his shoulder. "But in every fourth generation there comes along a wise fellow—a spender. Well, I'm the spender here."
He pulled out another cigarette, lighted it, and put on his hat.
"Shame on you!" cried the doctor indignantly. "Your breed ought to be exterminated!"
"Oh, no," Frederik declared. "We're as necessary as you are. We're the real wealth distributors. I wish you good-night, Doctor."
And he was gone.
Disgust was still written all over the doctor's face as he measured the medicine carefully and emptied it into a glass of water. He picked up the candelabrum in his other hand, and was just starting toward the stairs and Willem's room when Kathrien came in.
"Kathrien!" he cried in a ringing voice. "Burn up your wedding dress! We've made no mistake. I can tell you that!"
A moment more and he climbed the stairs and had disappeared into Willem's room, leaving Kathrien motionless, her face lighted with happy serenity. Then she went softly to Oom Peter's worn old desk chair, and, standing behind it, put her arms around its sides lovingly, almost protectingly—quite as if its former owner were sitting there and could feel her gentle caress.