"You don't care for going out 'in all weathers.'"

"I like looking at the weather from here. It's a different sky every day...."

Then they talked on all sorts of subjects. He often spoke of Addie, with a sort of enthusiasm which he had conceived for the lad. Her face would glow with pride as she listened. And, almost involuntarily, she told him how the boy had always been a comfort to them, to Van der Welcke as well as to her. And, when she mentioned her husband's name, he often answered, as though with a touch of reproach:

"I'm very fond of Hans. He is a child; and still I'm fond of him...."

Then she would feel ashamed, because she had just had a wordy dispute with Van der Welcke--about nothing at all--and she would veer round and say:

"It can't be helped. We can not get on. We endure each other as well as we can. To separate would be too silly ... and also very sad for Addie. He is fond of both of us."

And their conversation again turned on the boy. Then she had to tell him about Brussels and even about Rome.

"It's strange," he said. "When you were in Brussels ... I was living at Schaerbeek."

"And we never met."

"No, never. And, when you and Hans went to the Riviera, I was there in the same year."

"Did you come often to Monte Carlo?"

"Once or twice, at any rate. Attracted by just that vivid contrast between the atmosphere out there, where money has no value, and my own ideas. It was a sort of self-inflicted torture. And we never saw each other there.... And, when you were here, in the Hague, as a girl, I used often to come to the Hague and I even remember often pa.s.sing your parents' house, where your mother still lives, in the Alexanderstraat, and reading your name on the door: Van Lowe...."

"We were destined never to meet," she said, trying to laugh softly; and in spite of herself her voice broke, as though sadly.

"No," he said, quietly, "we were destined not to meet."

"The fatality of meeting is sometimes very strange," she said.

"There are thousands and millions, in our lives...."

"Don't you think that we often, day after day, for months on end, pa.s.s quite close to somebody...."

"Somebody who, if we met him or her, would influence our lives?..."

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"I'm certain of it."

"It's curious to think of.... In the street, sometimes, one's always meeting the same people, without knowing them."

"Yes, I know what you mean. In New York, when I was a tram-driver, there was a woman who always got into my car; and, without being in love with her, I used to think I should like to speak to her, to know her, to meet her...."

"And how often it is the other way round! I have met thousands of people and forgotten their names and what they said to me. They were like ghosts. That is how we meet people in society."

"Yes, it's all so futile...."

"You exchange names, exchange a few sentences ... and nothing remains, not the slightest recollection...."

"Yes, it all vanishes."

"I was so often tired ... of so many people, so many ghosts.... I couldn't live like that now."

"Yet you have remained a society-woman."

"Oh, no, I am no longer that!"

And she told him how she had once thought of making her reappearance in Hague society; she told him about Van Naghel and Bertha.

"Are you on bad terms with your sister now?"

"Not on bad terms...."

"He died suddenly...?"

"Yes, quite suddenly. They had just had a dinner-party.... It was a terrible blow for my sister. And I hear there are serious financial difficulties. It is all very sad.... But this doesn't interest you. Tell me about yourself."

"Again?"

"It interests me."

"Tell me about your own life."

"I've just been telling you."

"Yes, about Rome and Brussels. Now tell me about Buitenzorg."

"Why about that?"

"The childhood of my friends--I hope I may number you among my friends?--always interests me."

"About Buitenzorg? I don't remember anything.... I was a little girl.... There was nothing in particular...."

"Your brother Gerrit...."

She turned pale, but he did not see it, in the dim room.

"What has he been saying?"

"Your brother Gerrit remembers it all. The other night, after your dinner here, he told me about it while we were smoking."

"Gerrit?" she said, anxiously.

"Yes: how prettily you used to play on the great boulders in the river...."

She flushed scarlet, in the friendly dusk:

"He's mad!" she said, harshly. "What does he want to talk about that for?"