The news soon spread among their friends and acquaintances that Eline had fallen out with the Van Raats, and that she had sought refuge, as it were, with the Ferelijns. The fact that she had dined with the Hovels the previous evening roused considerable curiosity, and young Hijdrecht, who had been present at the dinner, was reported as saying that there had been some disagreement between the sisters. He had been seated beside Eline, and had never been so bored by her company as that evening: she had hardly said a word. The details of the dispute were unclear, only — and of this everyone was certain — Eline had been seen in a cab on that stormy night in the company of a nightwatchman, or of a young man; strange goings-on, to say the least.
Eline had displayed a penchant for eccentricity before, what with her habit of taking solitary walks in the Wood last winter — hardly the thing for a respectable young lady — and then there was that unfortunate business with Van Erlevoort, and now this nocturnal escapade with a young man and a nightwatchman! Such a shame it was, too, for she was such a sweet girl, really, so pretty and so elegant! But then the Veres had always been a trifle eccentric, had they not?
Betsy agonised over all the gossip, which she could sense was spreading apace, and as she scarcely dared show her face in public, she had recourse only to the Verstraetens and Emilie de Woude for company.
XXV
A month had passed since Eline’s arrival at the Ferelijns’, as Jeanne had refused to let her go until she was fully recovered. Reijer’s diagnosis was that Eline had caught a severe cold which, if neglected, might prove fatal, and Jeanne nursed her with fond indulgence. She had turned Frans’ small study into a bedroom for Eline, despite the latter’s protestations that she could easily go to a hotel. Frans too had assured her that he did not need the room, as his specialist in Amsterdam had advised him to work less hard, and so she hugged Jeanne with passionate gratitude and stayed on, her violent fits of coughing echoing grievously throughout the small upstairs apartment.
Her cough was now subsiding, and the pain in her chest had eased. However, she had grown very thin and hollow-eyed, with a sallow hue to her features. She settled herself in the ample chair close to the small stove and looked out of the window, listlessly following the progress of the butcher, greengrocer and milkman from door to door and watching the housemaids take charge of the deliveries: a plump red-haired one on this doorstep, a scrawny one on the other, and on the third the mistress of the house in person, wearing a black apron and a dingy lace cap.
At length she stood up, coughing, and glanced in the small looking glass, which had a plain black frame, as plain as everything else in the Ferelijns’ abode. She was expecting a visitor, someone she had not seen for some time, and she studied her reflection with misgiving, wondering what sort of impression she would make. Betsy had written a long letter to their uncle, Daniel Vere, who had acted as Eline’s guardian while she was still under age. As he had still been single when old Aunt Vere died, the possibility of Eline going to live with him in his Brussels residence had not arisen at the time, but he had recently married. He seldom came to The Hague, and when he received Betsy’s letter informing him that Eline had left the house at Nassauplein, his first reaction had been dismissive: why should this be of any concern to him? On second thought, however, he replied to the letter and also wrote to Eline, saying he should like to see her. His letter came as a very welcome surprise, for she was becoming increasingly fretful about what she should do once she was well again, and thought he might be able to advise her. So she responded in the most amicable terms, saying she would be glad to receive him at his convenience, so long as he did not expect her to make her peace with Betsy and return to the Van Raats — under no circumstances would she do that, for she had learnt to her cost that Betsy and she simply did not get along, never mind who was to blame.
Vere promptly telegraphed the date and hour of his intended visit. And now Eline was waiting for him to arrive, anxiously surveying her gaunt features in the glass, fearing that her power to win every man’s heart with her beguiling charm had deserted her. She drew the curtain a little, to temper the light falling on her face. Come afternoon, Jeanne showed the visitor to Eline’s room. He was tall and spare, with the somewhat languorous gestures that were so typical of the Veres, with the exception of Betsy, who was more like her mother. Eline thought he looked agreeably distinguished and worldly in his fur coat, and felt a trifle embarrassed about receiving her uncle in these humble surroundings. She rose and stepped forward with queenly demeanour, while Jeanne withdrew, closing the door behind her.
‘Hello, Uncle!’ said Eline softly, unsure of what lay ahead. ‘I am very glad to see you, very glad indeed.’
She extended her hand and motioned him to a chair. He sat down, looked at her intently, smiled a little and finally shook his head from side to side.
‘For shame, Eline!’ he began. ‘How sad you have made me. What a disagreeable state of affairs this is, my dear cousin.’
‘I presume Betsy had plenty to say about me in her letter?’ she asked, hiding her curiosity with an air of indifference.
‘Betsy’s news came like a bolt from the blue. I had no idea you were so out of sympathy with your sister. I thought you were happy at the Van Raats’. Last spring I received a happy letter from you saying you were to marry Van Erlevoort, and now I’m told that you broke off your engagement some months ago. But why that should lead to your taking flight in this unfortunate manner is beyond me. My dear Eline, how could you allow yourself to be so carried away by your emotions?’
He spoke with some caution, gauging her mood, for he did not wish to antagonise her. The news of her dramatic flight had given him the idea that she must be exceedingly impetuous and hot-tempered, and he did not quite trust her subdued manner, thinking she might suddenly leap up and do something desperate. But she maintained her even composure and responded in cordial tones.
‘Uncle, the fact that I ran away from Betsy and Henk does not mean that everything I do is unconsidered and foolish. It’s true that I was very angry with Betsy, and with hindsight I am sorry that I lost my temper, I am sorry that I didn’t simply turn my back on her and arrange to move out of her house on the morrow, when things had calmed down. But I think you will agree that there are moments in life when one — well, when one forgets oneself!’
‘So have you considered going back?’
‘I thought I made my decision perfectly clear to you in my letter,’ she replied, with an edge of disdain.
‘So you did, but I was hoping — I thought you might reconsider.’
‘Never!’ she said resolutely.
‘Very well then, we need not pursue the subject any further. I am sorry I mentioned it. But you sound very determined; I hope you have given ample consideration to the consequences of your decision.’
‘Certainly!’ she said, and broke into coughing.
‘In that case some alternative will have to be found. First you must get rid of that nasty cough, of course, but do you have any plans after that?’
Eline’s pride dissolved into anxiety.
‘Well, I have been doing a lot of thinking. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I might find somewhere to live by myself. I can afford it, and anyway I’m not a spendthrift. I could hire a live-in maid.’
In her fancy she saw herself living in a cramped upstairs apartment like this one, and tears came to her eyes.
‘That sounds reasonable. Here in The Hague?’
‘I suppose so. I’m not sure yet. Or some smaller town, perhaps.’
‘Ah well, we can leave that till later. Because, you see, I have a proposition to make.’