“You were crying, I believe.”
The tears dropped from her lashes.
“I have just now heard of the death of a very dear friend, a poor, weak little thing she was, but she was so useful. She will be so terribly missed by her husband and children. It is always thus in the world, is it not? People who are of use, they die, and those who, like myself, are a trouble to every one and a misery to themselves, live on.”
“Why do you speak so sadly? Are you then of use to no one? Do you care for no one, and is there no one who cares for you?”
She laughed bitterly.
“But surely there are people who take an interest in you?” he continued.
“What shall I answer you? I have no parents. About my sister I dare say you have heard something from Vincent. Do you know that I—ran away from—my brother-in-law’s house?”
“Yes.” [[282]]
“Ever since that time I have done nothing but wander about. I have always been with strange people. Uncle and aunt have taken me under their roof, but still they are strange. At the Hague I lived with an old lady, the mother of my brother-in-law; she was very kind to me and I liked her very much, but I was not kind to her.”
“I pity you very much,” said he. “I wish I could do something for you. But suppose you sought some occupation? Is it not because you have nothing to do that you feel yourself unhappy?”