‘Eline!’ cried Otto.
Springing up in his turn, he seized both her wrists and gazed into her eyes. She had expected some dramatic, dreadful response, that he would throw her to the floor, or smack her, but all he did was shake his head slowly from side to side, and in a tone of profound sorrow he said simply:
‘Eline — for shame!’
‘Oh my God! I–I’m going out of my mind!’ she raged. Then, convulsed with sobs, she tore herself away from his grasp and rushed out of the room, dashing several wine glasses to the floor as she went.
. .
Betsy made to run after Eline, but Otto restrained her.
‘I beg you, just let her be!’
Henk too had jumped up, and when Gerard came in again all three of them felt acutely embarrassed about their interrupted dinner and the broken glasses.
‘There’s no need, no need, Gerard,’ said Betsy, almost apologetically. ‘You had better clear the table now.’
They did not know where to look, as the manservant, for all his dignified stoicism, was bound to have guessed there had been a scene.
Meanwhile Eline had rushed upstairs and burst into her boudoir, startled to see Vincent, for she had forgotten he was there. She recoiled and stood in the doorway a moment, somewhat at a loss. Vincent was still dozing; his lunch tray stood untouched on the side table by the couch. The sight of him asleep gave Eline a sense of cruel, romantic satisfaction at having leapt to his defence, at having stood up for him against Betsy, and against Otto. . Not wishing to wake him just yet, she slipped into her bedroom, soundlessly closing the door behind her, and threw herself on her bed. Her sobbing had ceased quite suddenly, and, to her consternation, she found herself unable to weep. The solitude and calmness of her room cooled her agitated nerves, and although she could not remember the exact words she had spoken, she knew she had said the most appalling things, especially to Otto. Why? Why had she lashed out at him like that? Had it been because of Vincent? Because of Otto’s infuriating stoicism? She no longer knew the reason; her brain was in complete turmoil, and she tossed her head from side to side on her pillow in an effort to shake off her confusion. Yes, she thought, it must have been because of Vincent, who had no one in the whole world but her and that friend of his, far away in New York. She felt sorry for him, but then, didn’t she feel even more sorry for Otto? Had she actually intended to speak her mind with such vehemence? Had it been her own free will? The same will with which she had tried to force herself to continue loving Otto, because she knew she would make both him and herself miserable otherwise? Back at De Horze — how long ago that seemed! — she had never, ever, had the slightest difference of opinion with Otto, and now this! She had insulted him to his face. . dear God, why? Whatever had made her do it? Would Vincent consider this just another inevitable outcome of a whole series of other, interconnected inevitabilities? So then what was life? What was a human being? A helpless puppet, with Fate pulling its strings? She had tried with all her might to change, of that she was certain, but she was simply too weak to go against the fate that ruled her existence, and now, now the realisation dawned on her that it was all over! She had lost, she had no choice but to admit defeat.
Slowly she began to cry, and she was relieved to feel the tears wetting her cheeks; she made herself sob properly, too, although not too loudly. . better not let Vincent notice. It grew dark; ah, she could hear him moving about in the next room, where he had evidently lit the lamp, for she could see a slit of light beneath the door. But she remained as she was, lying supine on her bed, sobbing piteously.
. .
Otto was seated in the salon staring at the floor when Henk entered.
Noting the glint of a tear in Otto’s eyes, Henk became agitated.
‘Oh, Van Erlevoort!’ he said, laying his hand on Otto’s shoulder.
Otto raised his head.
‘Van Erlevoort! Come on old chap, be a man! I know it’s not all plain sailing with Sis, but she’s not bad at heart! You mustn’t mind what she said, do you hear? She was only angry with Betsy because she’s rather fond of Vincent, and you accidentally bore the brunt of her anger. You should just ignore it, that will be the best punishment for her.’
Otto did not respond and remained slumped in his seat, too harrowed by doubt to be assuaged by Henk’s solicitude. He thought of the time he had told Eline that she had but one fault, her lack of self-knowledge, and that she had hidden treasures slumbering within her which he would help her to rouse, but now he saw only too clearly that it would not be in his power to do so, that all he was able to rouse in her was irritation. . and that he was driving her mad. . suffocating her.
‘She can be confoundedly awkward when she gets in a tantrum,’ Henk pursued, inwardly raging as he paced the salon trying to think of comforting things to say. ‘But when she’s with someone she loves and respects she always sees reason in the end, and then. . I say, shall I go and have a word with her?’
‘I think she should be left alone,’ replied Otto, with difficulty. ‘She’s bound to come round, given time.’
He tried to imagine himself in her place, to guess what she was feeling at this moment, but found himself too stunned to pursue any logical train of thought. Never had he heard her use that kind of language before, never had he known her to shout or scream, never had he seen her face contorted with such unsightly anger. Try as he might, he was unable to gather his reason owing to the pain lacerating his heart.
Henk could not bear to see him thus, bowed and despairing, and suddenly felt himself spurred into action. He had a high regard for Otto, and it was unforgivable of Eline to treat him with such contempt; no indeed, he would not allow her to get away with it, and with a new vigour he strode out of the salon. Halfway up the stairs he met Betsy, who was on her way down.
‘Where is Eline?’ he asked.
Betsy glanced at him, taken aback by his resolute tone.
‘I don’t know,’ she said drily.
Henk continued up the stairs and entered Eline’s boudoir. Finding no one there, he assumed that Vincent was tired after his first brief spell out of doors and had already retired to bed, oblivious to the scene that had taken place downstairs. Henk knocked on the door to Eline’s bedroom.
‘Eline!’ he called.
There was no answer, and he pushed the door open. In the halflight he saw Eline lying on the floor, her slight form shaking with stifled sobs, her face hidden in her hands. He paused for a moment on the threshold, but she did not move.
‘Do get up, Eline!’ he said firmly, almost commandingly.
At this she drew herself up with a violent jolt.
‘What do you want?’ she screamed. ‘What are you doing in my room? Go away!’
‘Get up.’
‘No I won’t! Just go away, will you? Go away, leave me alone!’
He bent down, flushed with emotion, and grasped her roughly by the wrists, causing her to cry out in pain.
‘Damnation! Get up!’ he hissed, almost beside himself with anger, and grabbed her arms to pull her up by force.
Shocked into submission by hearing him swear, by his high colour, his red face, his flashing eyes and his hoarse voice, she allowed him to raise her to her feet.
‘What do you want?’ she asked again, but more calmly now, and with a touch of hauteur.
‘I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to go down immediately — immediately, do you hear — and ask Van Erlevoort to forgive you. You may not remember all the things you said when you lost your temper, but you offended him deeply, very deeply. Go downstairs at once!’
She stared, open-mouthed, shrinking from his commanding tone and his burly frame looming over her as he pointed her to the door.