CHAPTER XX
MYNHEER MOPIUS’S PARTY
Mynheer Jacóbus Mopius stood on the hearth-rug in his wife’s bedroom.
“My dear,” he said, “I must admit this—since you have taken to spending the greater part of your day up-stairs, the house has become most insufferably dull.”
For Mevrouw Mopius this remark had long ago lost all its novelty; still, she never grew to like it, even while she meekly answered,
“Yes, my dear, yes. I know. I shall be better soon.” And she added, as one of her familiar after-thoughts, “Harriet ought to amuse you.”
“Oh, Harriet amuses me fast enough,” retorted Mynheer Mopius, with unpleasing alacrity. “But you’d soon be all right if you left off remembering you were ill.”
“Yes, my dear, yes,” repeated Mevrouw Mopius, closing her faded eyes. Her cheeks were faded, her hair was faded, her flannel dressing-gown was faded. In the fading light, complacent Mynheer Mopius, looking down upon her, thought how excessively faded she was.