“Nily,” he whispered back, and whilst she felt his arm clasp her waist more closely, her lips inaudibly repeated the name, the echo of which resounded through her being like a caress of jubilant love.
Mathilde van Ryssel had taken a tent by the sea, and told Jeanne Ferelyn to come and sit there with her children as often as she chose. At first, out of diffidence, Jeanne had only occasionally availed herself of the invitation; but Mathilde was pressing, and Jeanne now came very frequently. Sometimes they both arranged that they should start in the morning early, and take some sandwiches—the children could get plenty of milk to drink at the milk stall; and so they would sit down, both of them under the awning of the tent, chatting over their work, whilst their children were delving with their little spades in a big sand-pit in front of them, or were busy along the beach, constructing the most wonderful aqueducts. And Jeanne fancied that her children were getting more robust and less peevish, now that they were in company with the noisy, playful little van Ryssels, and she and Mathilde gazed delightedly at the boisterous little band. Jeanne especially felt the influence of that frequent intercourse with Mathilde, in whom she had found a friend who understood her troubles, and who, with her [[173]]sad experience and placid resignation, was ever ready to advise and aid her. They spoke frequently about their children and their domestic affairs, and Jeanne thought Mathilde, used though she was to the cosiest of surroundings, exceedingly practical and frugal.
But those pleasant days by the sunny seaside did not last long, for the Ferelyns had to leave. They were going to Boppard, where Frans was to undergo the cold-water cure, and Jeanne racked her brains trying to calculate the probable expenses of the trip. How could they afford to stay at Boppard perhaps for six weeks, with their three children, while at the same time they could not give up their rooms in the Hugo de Grootstraat?
Madame van Erlevoort, with Otto and Eline, who wanted to make the acquaintance of her fiancé’s relatives, had been to Zwolle for a day or two, and the old lady was in raptures about the little van Stralenburg, a baby plump and firm as any she had seen, with such a head of curly dark hair. She was grateful to Otto for having pressed her to make the journey to Zwolle; to the Horze she went every summer, and the trip to her country seat was such an ordinary occurrence that she saw no inconvenience in it at all; but any other removal from her home circle pained her, as though she were tearing herself away from her dear ones for ever. It was a luxury to her to be back once more in her roomy house on the Voorhout, with its somewhat faded, old-fashioned furniture, but full of comfort and ease. Eline thought the van Stralenburgs most charming people: Suzanne, a darling little mother, not pretty, at times rather careless in her dress, but so unaffected and genial, so mad with her little boy, that it was a treat to behold her; her husband, a good-natured, kindly fellow, but thoroughly spoilt by his wife, who was constantly at his beck and call, and who ran up and down the stairs for him, in a way that made Eline sometimes roar with laughter. No, she would never be like that to Otto; he had better be sure of that. But although she thus spoke laughingly to Otto, at the bottom of her heart she felt it would be bliss indeed thus to devote oneself entirely to one’s husband, as Suzanne devoted herself to van Stralenburg; to exist but for him and be his faithful slave.
And then a charming picture of home life with Otto, of the life that would be hers, would arise to her imagination, ever active, and ever in want of vivid imagery, which even in the happiness of [[174]]to-day could not refrain from calling into being a yet happier future.
In this mood, which filled her soul with idylls, she saw in everything but a reflection of that happiness, and the people with whom she mingled all seemed to her genial and kindly, never giving themselves up to bitter quarrelling, and living for each other, without a semblance of egotism. Scenes with Betsy appeared never destined to recur, now that she answered her sister’s sharp tone in a voice full of gentleness, as though she was loth to desecrate her happiness by a single discordant sound. A great calm came over her nerves, and she herself could not refrain from wondering at her equable, cheerful good-humour, quite undisturbed by the usual periodic attacks of listless melancholy. No gray and black mists surrounded her; it was as though she breathed a light atmosphere, full of brilliancy, fragrance, and sparkle.
For a day or two after his talk with Vincent, Henk felt very ill at ease. In his native kindliness he did not like to hurt any one’s feelings, and he thought he had wounded Vere’s pride. After all, the poor devil could not help it, that everything he undertook failed. So Henk had called on Vincent, and four times he wanted to put the sum he had asked of him in his hands; but Vincent refused to accept it, and instead, in fact, had repaid Henk a considerable portion of what he owed him. How he had managed to procure the money remained a puzzle to Henk, as everything else about Vincent was a puzzle to him. At home, Betsy reproached her husband with his want of tact in dealing with Vere, and she, in her vague fear of that cousin, in whom she suspected a latent power, which could at will crush her with all her strength of mind, resolved at any price to make him forget her husband’s brusquerie. Théodore had invited Eline to come and stay at the Horze, and she was to go there towards the end of July together with the Erlevoorts and the Howards, who were just now in the Hague, and remain in Gelderland all through August. It would therefore, so Betsy thought, be lonely in her big house on the Nassauplein; the idea of going out of town with Henk did not much fascinate her; she would rather make a trip to the South at the commencement of the winter, when Eline should be married; and it was therefore as much from a longing after change, as from diplomatic cordiality, that she invited Vincent to pitch his tent with them during Eline’s absence. She made her request with the most [[175]]charming manner possible. She would miss Eline so terribly, she would be so lonely, and Vincent could be so sociable, and chat so pleasantly about his wanderings; so he must not refuse, he would be doing her an immense favour. Vincent was overjoyed at the request, opening to him as it did a prospect of peace and placid luxury. He would lead a life of luxury without having to spend a cent, a month long! and a month of rest seemed to him, in his wretched hand-to-mouth existence, a period of bliss without end, an eternity of happiness. He therefore accepted Betsy’s invitation with a secret gladness, outwardly however with a certain condescension, as though wanting to show that he still felt hurt at Henk’s refusal, and as though he were happy to give Betsy an opportunity to make up for van Raat’s unfriendliness.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Lili was cross, very cross, her lips trembled, and the tears nearly stood in her eyes.