“No; really, Truus, I can’t make you out. I on the contrary [[193]]admire Eline, because, stranger as she is among our family, she so quickly made herself at home. I can assure you that when I came to London with Howard—I did not know his family at all, that’s true—but I must say I felt a little bit like a fish out of water among them, cordial though they all were. But Eline—dear me! why ’tis as if I have always known her; she is so easy, so accommodating, you have no trouble with her whatever. No; I really can’t understand that you can even imagine that she will not feel herself at home amongst us; I can’t say it’s very nice of you, I am sure.”
Truus laughed at Cathérine’s indignation, and excused herself as well as she could, and as the servant was coming in to clear the table, the old lady with Mathilde and Cathérine went up-stairs, and sat down in the roomy, well-shaded balcony, while Truus remained invisible for the rest of the morning, absorbed in her domestic duties.
The cart was already long out of sight. Théodore, Howard, Etienne, and Cor walked in front, and Otto and Eline followed, under the shadow of her big lace parasol.
The conversation of the four men was a mixture of English and Dutch; Howard declared he could understand the latter, and was even able to speak a word or two, while Théodore was continually coming to grief with his English in his explanations about tenants and lands. Some labourers in their Sunday clothes passed by with a respectful salute.
The road lay bathed in sunshine between the glowing gold of rye and oats, and not a breath of wind stirred the stalks. Beyond, white and red, gleamed the blossoming buckwheat. In the distance arose a farm-house from between a group of trees, with a line of smoke rising like a faint gray plume against the blue of the sky.
“I suppose you feel yourself here like a king in your own country?” said Howard.
“Oh no!” answered Théodore. “I feel myself more peasant than king. But look round a moment; there, right across the garden, there’s our palace.”
They turned round and stood still, so that Otto and Eline soon overtook them. Through a break in the dense foliage the Horze could be seen in the distance, white as milk, with its little shutters and slender white turrets, the big vine-clad balconies relieving the white monotony with leafy intervals. The lake lay as a round [[194]]mirror in the midst of the fresh greensward, bespeckled with a white fluttering flight of pigeons.
“What a very pretty view!” said Eline, enraptured. “But see, who is that waving to us?”
“Oh, I suppose it’s grandma and the aunts,” cried Cor.