"Yes, Addie...."
"Promise me now, old chap, to do your best.... You see, I'm playing the father to all of you, even though I'm only six years older than you are. I feel a sort of father to you ... and I should like to see you all happy ... and prosperous.... But you must help me, Alex. Show a little energy. If you hadn't thrown up the sponge at once at Alkmaar, you'd almost have had your commission by now...."
"Yes...."
"Like your father. Mamma would have liked that. But we won't talk about it any more and we'll hope that things will go better at Amsterdam...."
"Addie ... do you remember Papa well?"
"Of course I do."
"So do I.... I was eight years old, when he died.... I even remember...."
"What?"
"That evening ... though I didn't understand at the time ... why Mamma cried and screamed like that ... or why Aunt Constance and Uncle Henri were there.... It was not until later, oh, years later, that I understood!... But I saw.... I saw Papa lying ... with blood all round him; and that's a thing which always ... always ... hovers before my eyes. I'm always seeing it, Addie!... Tell me, Addie, do you know why Papa did it?... There was nothing, surely, to make him so unhappy as all that?"
"He was very ill."