For Betsy had written a long letter to her uncle, Daniel Vere, who during Eline’s minority had been her guardian, and who was only lately married and living in Brussels. When old Aunt Vere died he was still single, so that it was out of the question for Eline to make her home with him. He came but seldom to the Hague, and when he received Betsy’s letter, in which Eline’s flight was described to him, it seemed to him that he was being drawn into matters that did not concern him. He replied to it, however, and at the same time wrote to Eline, asking her for an interview. His letter surprised her, and agreeably so, and she thought that through him she could see a relief from her present position, which, when she should have quite recovered, would certainly be no longer bearable to her. She therefore replied to him in the most amiable terms, and promised to do as he required her on the one condition only, that he did not ask her to make her peace with her sister and again to make her home with the Van Raats; that she should on any account have to refuse, as the past had already taught her that Betsy and she could not get on together; with whom the fault was it was not for her to say.
Vere then telegraphed what day and hour he would be coming to see Eline. And now she awaited him, and examined her emaciated features, and feared, as she saw herself so worn and emaciated, that she would not be able to shed around her that all-powerful charm with which she attracted every man towards her. She drew down the curtain a little, so that the light should not fall with such a glare on her sallow complexion. In the afternoon he came.
He was tall and slender, with the somewhat languid movements [[247]]peculiar to all the Veres except Betsy, who was more like her mother. On Eline, who had not seen him for two years, he made a very favourable impression. He had the appearance of a thorough man of the world, and she felt a little ashamed to receive him in this little room and amid these humble surroundings. She rose slowly and languidly from her seat, and walked towards him, while Jeanne shut the door and retired.
“How do you do, uncle?” said Eline softly. “I am very glad to see you, very glad.”
She held out her hand to him, and pointed to a chair. He sat down, looked at her rather searchingly, smiled a little sad smile, and shook his head.
“For shame, Eline,” he began slowly. “What sorrow you have caused me. Do you know I’m very dissatisfied with you, little girl?”
“I suppose Betsy has written all sorts of things about me?” she asked with assumed indifference, but with real curiosity.
“What Betsy has written me came upon me like a thunderbolt. I had no idea that you were so out of sympathy with your sister. I thought you were very happy at the Van Raats’. Last spring you wrote me such an enthusiastic letter about your engagement, and now Betsy tells me that you have released Van Erlevoort from his word. But still I had no idea whatever that such scenes had taken place. Eline, Eline, how can you allow yourself to be carried away like this by your feelings, without the slightest attempt at self-control?”
He searched a little for his words, proceeding cautiously, with much misgiving whether she would allow him to persuade her to another course. The news of her flight had given him the idea that she was a very violent, impetuous creature. Now her gentle reticence seemed to him very suspicious, and he feared every moment that she would jump up and do something desperate. But she replied very quietly—
“Look here, uncle. I ran away from Henk and Betsy, it is true; but that is no reason why you should imagine that I do nothing but silly things. I was beside myself with passion because of Betsy’s aggravating manner. Now I’m sorry that I did not control myself, that I did not simply turn my back on her, to leave her house the next day in peace and quietness. But I think you will agree with me that there are moments in life when—yes, when one is no longer master of oneself.” [[248]]