The Later Life. Louis Couperus

Peace, he was soon eagerly discussing motor-cars and motor-cycles. …

      When they reached the Kerkhoflaan, Constance asked:

      “Won’t you all come in?”

      Van Vreeswijck and Paul said that they would be glad to come and have a glass of wine; but Brauws said:

      “Mevrouw, it’s so late. …”

      “Not for us.”

      “Come along, Max,” said Van der Welcke.

      But Brauws laughed his queer, soft laugh and said:

      “What’s the good of my coming in? …”

      And he went off, with a shy bow. They all laughed.

      “Really, Brauws is impossible,” said Van Vreeswijck, indignantly.

      “And he’s forgotten to tell me at what time he’s coming for me with his old sewing-machine. …”

      But next day, very early, in the misty winter morning, the “machine” came puffing and snorting and exploding down the Kerkhoflaan and stopped at Van der Welcke’s door with a succession of deep-drawn sighs and spasmodic gasps, as if to take breath after its exertions; and this monster as it were of living and breathing iron, odorous of petrol—the acrid smell of its sweat—was soon surrounded by a little group of butchers’-boys and orange-hawkers. Brauws stepped out; and, as Constance happened to be coming downstairs, she received him.

      “I’m not fit to be seen, mevrouw. In these ‘sewing-machines,’ as Hans calls them, one becomes unpresentable at once.”

      He was shy, looked out at the gasping motor-car and smiled at the crowd that had gathered round:

      “I’m causing quite a tumult outside your door.”

      “They ought to be used to ‘sewing-machines’ at the Hague by now.”

      “That’s a very graphic word of Hans’.”

      They both laughed. She thought his laugh attractive and his voice soft and restful to listen to.

      “Mevrouw,” he said, suddenly, overcoming his bashfulness, “I hope you were not angry that I was so ungracious yesterday? …”

      “But you weren’t at all ungracious.”

      “Yes, I was, very. But what excuse can I make? I have lost the habit … of just talking. …”

      She smiled:

      “To ladies,” she said, jokingly.

      “Yes, about nothing … you know … small talk. …”

      “You really needn’t apologize, Mr. Brauws. You had already said so many delightful things last night that I can quite understand. …”

      “Yes, but I have said nothing this morning and. …”

      “You wouldn’t know what to say … about nothing. But please don’t trouble … and make yourself at home. Henri will be down in a minute; he is very worried at not being ready.”

      In fact, they heard Van der Welcke upstairs, dressing excitedly; he was rushing madly round his room and shouting:

      “Addie! Addie! Pick me out a tie! Do be quick, boy!”

      And Constance rose to go. Brauws stopped her:

      “Mevrouw,” he said, hurriedly, “Hans asked me to dinner.”

      “And you refused. …”

      “Well, you see, I’m such a bear. Don’t be angry and don’t let Hans be angry either and let me come and dine with you one day.”

      “So you’re inviting yourself?”

      “Yes.”

      “Very well; we shall be delighted to see you. When will you come?”

      “Whenever you like.”

      “To-morrow?”

      “With great pleasure.”

      “Would you rather come alone, or shall I ask Van Vreeswijck to meet you?”

      “Yes, certainly, Van Vreeswijck. …”

      “And nobody else.”

      “No, nobody. But I mustn’t dictate to you.”

      “Why shouldn’t you, in this case?”

      Van der Welcke came rushing down the stairs, followed by Addie:

      “This is jolly of you, Max! Let’s have a look at the old machine. She’s a first-rater! And here’s my boy. … Addie, eat a bit of bread and butter, quick; then we’ll drop you at your school.”

      Addie laughed, quietly ate his bread and butter without sitting down:

      “I’ve lots of time,” he said.

      “So much the better … we’ll drive you round a bit first. Quick, quick! Take your bread and butter with you in your hand!”

      He rushed like a madman through the dining-room and hall, hunted for his hat, couldn’t find it, shouted up the stairs, made Truitje look all over the place for his gloves, created a breezy draught all through the house. At last, he was ready:

      “If only I can manage the old sewing-machine! … Tock-tock-tock-tock, tock-tock-tock-tock! … Good-bye, Constance. …”

      He shoved Addie in front of him, made him get into the car, settled himself:

      “We’re off, Brauws!”

      “Good-bye, mevrouw. Till to-morrow then!”

      He ran out. Constance looked out of the window: they drove off, with Addie between them, waving his hand to her, while Brauws was showing Van der Welcke—much too quick, too wild, too impatient—how to work the “sewing-machine” and obviously asking him to be careful. …