"What's brought him?... Upon my word, child, I don't know. Blessed if I know. Uncle always ghoes r-r-regularly to Gholland ... on bissiness, bissiness, always bissiness. What they're scheming together now, your Papa and Uncle Daan, blessed if I know; but we sha'n't get rich on it." And she shook her head almost in Ina's face, reproachfully. "And it's year-r-rs that they've been messing about together."
"Poor Papa!" said Ina, sighing.
"Yes-yes-yes, well-well-well," exclaimed the doctor, sitting sideways, with his paunch dangling in front of him, "we're getting old, we're getting old ..."
"Speak for yourself!" cried Aunt Floor, angrily. "I'm only ssixty."
"Only sixty? Aha, aha!" mumbled the doctor. "Only sixty? I thought you were older."
"I'm only ssixty, I tell you!" said Aunt Floor, wrathfully.
"Yes-yes, then you're the same age ... as ... as Ottilie.... Well-well, well-well!..."
"Yes," said Aunt Floor, "I'm just the same age as Ottilie Steyn."
"Sixty years ... well-well!" mumbled the doctor.
"You were a young man then, doctor," said Ina, with a little laugh.