“And you, Truus,” asked her mother-in-law, who observed it, “you like her too, don’t you?”
“What shall I say, mamma? I know so little of her. I think it very nice of her that she adapts herself so entirely to our ways and habits, so that I have no occasion to stand upon ceremony, as with a stranger; I haven’t the time for that. So I do think it nice of her. But you are aware I don’t at once go into raptures about people.”
“That sounds too diplomatic to please me, child. As for me, I either like a person or I don’t.”
“Oh, you must not think I mean more than I say. I have only known Eline a week; she has made a favourable impression upon me, I think her very charming, but I don’t yet quite know whether I actually feel for her or not.”
It was on Mathilde’s lips to say that she, who had known Eline [[192]]for years, was not quite certain of that either, but she said nothing.
“And then again—but you must not be vexed, mamma, will you, now that we are on the subject?”
“No, no, child.”
“You see, I can’t help thinking there’s something in Eline as if she will never feel herself at home among our family. She adapts herself to us, as I said, but I am not so sure that it comes quite from her heart. I don’t cause you pain with what I say, do I? There is nothing I should like better than to find that I was mistaken in Eline, and when I know a little more of her—eh, mamma?”
She hesitated to say it right out; she did not care for Eline. She was a sturdy sensible woman and a good mother, ruling over her little kingdom with loving care and prudence, who, whilst ever friendly and cheerful, was also determined and firm, and made her will pass as law. In the firmness of her character she generally came forward straight with her meaning, but this time she knew that, as Otto’s intended wife, mamma already looked upon Eline as one of the family; she had noticed that Eline could with a single loving word or a single caress touch the old lady, and she did not like to pain mamma in her son’s intended. But in their rural atmosphere—that she could not deny—Eline introduced a discord, as of something artificial, something unreal, and this irritated Truus. She could not know that Eline was perhaps more herself at the Horze than she had ever been elsewhere, that indeed she felt happy there in the simple family life, that she felt as though a new, a purer, and a fresher life had fallen to her share; she could not penetrate Eline’s inner thoughts, she could but see on the surface; she saw not the sweet calm of those nerves, so long overstrung in a life of excessive culture and luxury; she saw only the native worldliness glimmering through a veil of affected simplicity, and this irritated her, as the big blue silk sash on Eline’s print dress irritated her.
Cathérine Howard was all indignation. How was it possible that Truus could say such a thing? it was certainly not very becoming to an intended sister. And she galloped along about Eline with almost childish ecstasy, in such affectionate words, that the old lady, disconcerted at her daughter-in-law’s ideas, soon again beamed with pleasure.