She sat beside Betsy in the open landau, with Henk and Otto facing her. Dirk, the coachman, had been compelled to halt a moment, but now again the long file of carriages began to move. Herman, the little footman, sat on the box with crossed arms, motionless and straight in his light gray livery with its bright buttons.
“There will be a terrible crowd,” said Betsy. “But it’s in the open air, so we need not fear we shall get no seat.”
Not a breath of wind stirred through the dense foliage, and after a day of intense heat and glaring sun, with the gathering twilight a leaden heaviness seemed to descend over everything. Eline, rather faint with the heat, leaned back with pale cheeks and spoke little; only now and then glancing at Otto through her drooping lashes, with an archness that was full of happiness. Betsy kept up a lively conversation with van Erlevoort, for Henk was not very talkative either, reflecting as he was whether it would not have been wiser to have stayed at home drinking a cup of tea in the garden, rather than rush away directly after dinner to Scheveningen.
Betsy, however, robust and cheerful, enjoyed the fragrant air, of which she took deep breaths. She enjoyed the soft, padded cushions of her luxurious, well-appointed carriage, contrasting so brightly with the other vehicles; she enjoyed even the sight of Herman’s dignified attitude, and of the silver initials worked on the hangings of the box. She was contented with herself, with the luxury that she displayed, and contented with her company. Eline was so charmingly pretty, just like a little doll; her dress of light gray étamine was almost striking in its simplicity, while the coquettish little hat enclosed her face in a framework of silk. Erlevoort was [[161]]such a fine-looking fellow, and so distingué; Henk looked so comfortable and stout, so well-fed—her husband was really not so bad; she might have fared worse. And she nodded to her acquaintances as their carriage passed by with her most captivating smile; no, she must not seem proud, though her fine bay mares ran never so fast.
“Oh, glorious! the air is getting fresher, I am beginning to revive!” murmured Eline, raising herself up, with a deep breath, when they had passed the Promenade. “I feel I want some fresh air, after the temperature of this afternoon.”
“Come, child, it was delicious!” declared Betsy. “The sort of weather I should always like to have.”
“Well, all I can say is, I should be dead after a month of it. I say, Otto, you are laughing; tell me honestly now—do you think it’s affectation, or do you really believe that I cannot bear such heat?”
“Of course I believe you, Elly.”
She looked at him with feigned anger, and shook her little head reproachfully.
“Elly again,” she whispered.