“Well, it does cost a good deal of money,” said Jo; “but, oh dear! if it is to please them!—”
When the morning of the 5th came, the Van Elsts’ neighbour over the way congratulated himself on his single blessedness, remarking to his dog, “That’s what comes of getting married.” He relented after a little, however, when his cup of coffee had put him in a somewhat better humour, and added: “After all, Van Elst is not so much more tied than I am. It isn’t often he’s interfered with. It’s a marvel how that woman always finds time for everything.”
To-day, however, Mrs Van Elst found it rather difficult to fit in everything. She was dreadfully busy; and, as might be expected, lost her temper a little, got cross with the “boys,” gave Nonnie a push, and Max a sharp answer, and then was stung with remorse, and said, resentfully, “that she could not understand why Cousin Martendijk had not written sooner; it was such short notice,—such a nuisance!”
It was indeed. For when Van Elst came home at mid-day, and she met him with the query if everything did not look nice? he saw by her flushed cheeks, and the dark rings under her eyes, that she had over-exerted herself.
“Yes, very nice indeed; but you have been doing far too much again,” he said, reproachfully. “Do take a rest now,” he added, pouring her out a glass of port.
“Thanks, dear; but I must go and dress first.”
“Yes, yes, presently,” he said, as he seated himself beside her on the couch, holding her back as she struggled to free herself, and then resorting to endearments and caresses which he well knew would retard her escape.
Presently a carriage drove up to the door. Jo sprang up in dismay, and made a bold attempt at flight; but she was caught in the act, and found herself face to face with the Martendijks! Very smart did Mrs Martendijk look in her white gown, flounced and embroidered; and Jo became painfully conscious of her own dishevelled hair, her soiled and crumpled kabaja, and old faded sarong[[40]].
“My wife was just going to dress,” remarked Van Elst, aware of her embarrassment; “we did not expect you before two o’clock.”
“Yes, so we wrote; but we changed our plans. It would have made us so late for luncheon, and that does not suit my complaint, you see,” said Martendijk.