What was I to do?
I looked at her quite as appealingly, and replied. “Ja, heus! Wel zeker.”
That was decisive. No tea!
The cup, however, was planted down in front of me, upside down. “Het is voor de pronk, zeker,” said the grandmother. “Engelsche gewoonte—zeer net.”
But conversation flagged. The silence was painful. You could have heard a pin drop. My discreet attempt to ask for something had failed, and I didn’t see exactly how I was to improve upon it.
THINGS ARE DEAR IN HOLLAND.
The mother meantime surveyed my empty plate and empty cup with distinct disapproval, and put out a feeler: “Mijnheer houdt niet van Hollandsche kost?”
‘Hollandsch kost’, what things cost in Holland—Dutch prices, in other words? Well, they are rather high sometimes. The remark seemed somewhat irrelevant, but it was talk, and therefore welcome. Anything to break that oppressive silence. Eagerly embracing the opportunity of saying something, I responded with cordiality: “Hollandsche kost? Neen. Ik houd niet erg ervan. Dat kan U begrijpen. Ze zijn veels te hoog!”
This well-meant pleasantry was received with such evident disfavour that I hastened to explain. “Ik bedoel dat vele artikelen zijn kostbaar—of kostelijk—mijns bedunkens—in Holland—maar van onberispelijke smaak.”
Hardly any response was made to this.—The merest murmur on the part of the grandmother, that was all. But they all looked at me curiously, without saying a word.