Upon arriving at Horstwyk, Mopius went straight to the Parsonage, whence he could most conveniently order a fly for the Horst. The Dominé came out into the garden, and gave his brother-in-law a hearty greeting. Nevertheless, he hastened to cut off any risk of a tête-à-tête.
“Josine will be delighted,” he said. “Let us go in to her. We have not seen you for a long time, Jacóbus. Not since—” The Dominé threw open the sitting-room door.
“Not since the funeral,” supplemented Jacóbus, standing in the middle of the floor. “Ah, that was a very sad business. Good-morning, Josine.” He shook his head mournfully. Jacóbus was of opinion that social events should be made to yield their full meed of emotional enjoyment.
“Ah me!” replied Miss Mopius, heaving an enormous sigh. The whole apartment was littered with varicolored tissue-paper in sheets and strips and snippets. Miss Mopius was fabricating artificial flowers. Her whole face assumed an expression of deeply dejected resignation.
“How do you do, Jacóbus?” she said. “I’m glad to see you. I hope you are better. Sad, indeed. Did you say ‘sad’?”
“I did,” responded her brother, sitting down.
“Some people say ‘sad,’” explained Josine, in the same tone of aggrieved acquiescence, “and some people say ‘bad.’ I say ‘bad.’”
The Dominé, who had remained standing near, emitted what sounded like a slight grunt of impatience.
“Yes, Roderigue, you may object,” continued Miss Mopius, carefully studying the pink paper frill between her delicate fingers, “but nothing will deter me from doing my duty. And it is my duty to point out distinctly that our dear Ursula has committed what I do not hesitate to qualify as a crime. It may be painful to you as a father—”