“Stuff and nonsense!” cried the sharp-faced Freule van Borck, “there are women enough yet—thank Heaven—and to spare, that don’t care a cent about looks.”
Her sister puckered up a small mouth into a most innocent expression. “If it be so,” she said, suavely, “it is a merciful dispensation. God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”
The two brothers sat in silence, not so much sullen as constrained. Presently the father proposed the health of the one who had that day returned to them. “We celebrate,” he said, with good-natured banter, “le retour du fils prodigue, trop prodigue—de lui-même.”
After the toast had been honored, he turned to his Benjamin. “You, sir,” he said, “prefer the fruits of other people’s labors. You take after your father. And, when the time comes, precious little you will find to take.” They both laughed heartily enough this time, and the whole family rose from table.
Otto came out to Gerard on the terrace. “I am sorry I offended you,” he said; “I meant to be angry, but not to be insulting.”
Gerard’s face cleared like a pool when the sun comes out. He gave his brother’s hand a hearty grasp. “Don’t speak of it again,” he said. “I dare say I was wrong, though Heaven knows I didn’t mean to annoy you. You will find me, sometimes, a little thoughtless, I fear. You mustn’t always take things quite as seriously as to-day, though. I wish you would come down to the stables with me, Otto; you haven’t even seen my saddle-horses yet.”
Mynheer van Helmont, standing cigar in mouth before the great bay window, turned and nodded to his wife.
“They are friends again,” he said. “Isn’t it dreadful? That is the worst thing that can happen to brothers.”
“What is?” queried the Freule van Borck.