"Is your friend so very poor?" asked the countess, in a serious whisper, as one would speak over the shame of a kinsman.
"Of course," replied Johannes, with a positiveness that was a challenge. "Indeed, he would be ashamed not to be poor."
"I think such men insufferable!" exclaimed Van Lieverlee. "As Socrates said, their conceit can be seen through the holes in their clothes. Without even opening their mouths they—every one of them—seem to be forever preaching morals and finding fault. I hate the tribe. They are of all men the most turbulent and dangerous."
Johannes had never yet seen Van Lieverlee so angry, but he remained cool throughout the tirade, and kept his temper.
The countess said in a languid voice:
"He certainly is very immoderate. I cannot say, either, that such pronounced types are to my taste."
Johannes was silent, and the other two talked together a while longer. The children came up nearer, and lying down in the clean, clear sand, they listened to the conversation. It was a bright group, for they were all dressed in white, except Johannes.
At last Van Lieverlee rose to go, and the countess, clinging to his hand, with a certain warmth of manner said:
"Of course you are coming to dinner?"
"Most assuredly!" replied Van Lieverlee.