[Passionately.] Her husband and her little brother—and my poor uncle—those horrible stories—instead of cheering us up! Ask me now for my story! [Shrieking.] My father was drowned, drowned, drowned, drowned! There are others—all—drowned, drowned!—and—you are all miserable wretches—you are! [Violently bangs the door shut as she runs out.]
Truus.
[Anxiously.] I believe she’s afraid.
Marietje.
Shall I go after her?
Kneirtje.
No, child, she will quiet down by herself. Nervous strain of the last two days. Are you going now, Miss?
Clementine.
It has grown late, Kneir, and your niece—your niece was a little unmannerly. No, I’m not offended. Who is going to take me home?