“Yes—yes—yes!” she laughed; and the little bells tinkled merrily, the shrill little silver bells. “Uncle, I drink to it.”
“To what?”
“To our small ... sympathy.”
“Here goes!”
Their champagne-glasses touched, with a crystal note. They drank.
“What are you drinking to?” asked Paul.
She put her finger to her tiny mouth. She was radiant and, in her excitement, she became very pretty, with her shining eyes. She felt that Brauws was looking at her; and she felt that Brauws was still angry. And, feeling mischievous and happy, with a desire to tease them all, Brauws, Paul and Van der Welcke, she murmured, with an airy grace:
“That’s our secret; Uncle’s and mine....”
“A secret?” asked Van Vreeswijck.
She laughed. The bells rang out merrily: