# Small Souls/Chapter XXVIII

In a small town like the Hague, the sudden appearance of Constance and her husband, after many years, could not but be the occasion for an interchange of gossip that was not easily silenced. The Van Lowe family had connections in various sets—the aristocratic set, the upper official world, the military set, the Indian set—and, just because of these connections in more than one set, there arose a crossfire of criticism and condemnation, neither of which had lost any of its sharpness, even though people had not given a thought to Constance for years. On the contrary, the gossip was a sort of raking up of all that could be remembered of former days, a repetition of all the criticism and all the condemnation which these very people, for the most part, fifteen years ago, had passed among themselves, from one to another, as so much current coin. If it had sometimes seemed to Constance as though the period of her absence contracted and was no longer twenty years, to all those people who knew her, or knew her relations, or knew relations of her relations, that interval had no existence whatever; and it was as though the scandal dated from yesterday, as though she had married her lover, Van der Welcke, yesterday. And, while she herself, in her gentle happiness and melancholy contentment at being back among her kinsfolk, in her country, for which she ​had longed so greatly abroad, while she noticed nothing of this cross-fire, through which she walked quietly—in the street, at the time of the two weddings, at Scheveningen and now—it continued among all those people—acquaintances, friends, relations—continued, never ceased fire. To all of them she had remained the Mrs. De Staffelaer of old, who had never returned to the Hague since her marriage and who was now back with Van der Welcke. At visits, at tea-parties, at evening-parties, at the Witte or the Plaats, at Scheveningen, everywhere, the rapid cross-fire began, as a pleasant sport for all of them:
“You know, Mrs. De Staffelaer. . . .”
“Van Lowe that was. . . .”
“Yes, the one who went off with Van der Welcke. . . .”
“Yes, I remember: she married him. . . .”
“Yes, she’s back.”
“Yes, so I hear.”
“Yes, she was out driving yesterday with old Mrs. van Lowe.”
“So she’s back again?”
“Yes, she’s back!”
In this way the cross-fire began, suavely and rapidly, as a conversational sport.
“And so she is received by her relations?”
“Yes. And even at Driebergen.”
“Is it really twenty years ago?”
“No, it can’t be as long as that.”
“She has a child.” ​“Yes, a boy; but not by Van der Welcke.”
“The father’s an Italian, I hear.”
“Yes, an Italian diplomatist.”
In this way the fire continued, brisk, crackling, fiercer and fiercer, until it went off like a brilliant and acrid fire-work:
“Well, I don’t think the family will like that so very much!”
“You need only look at Van Naghel’s face . . .”
“Or at the Van Saetzemas’.”
“Why don’t they keep her in the background?”
“Yes. What did she want to come back for at all?”
“I call it an impertinence.”
“She was always intriguing as a young girl.”
“That marriage with old De Staffelaer. . . .”
“And what is she ferreting round for now?”
“Yes, what on earth is she ferreting round for in the Hague?”
And they ferreted round for what she was ferreting round for in the Hague. They ferreted very deep, very far, after the brilliant cross-fire; they dug up, among themselves, all the sand of their suspicions and flung it about one another’s ears:
“They had a very expensive establishment abroad and were unable to keep it going any longer.”
“She wants to be near her mother because she’s afraid that, when the mother dies, there will be trouble about the will.”
“It was he who wanted to come back, for the sake of an old mistress of his.” ​“She wants to go to Court.”
“No, it’s he who wants to go to Court.”
“Yes, they both want to go to Court.”
“She wants to go to Court. . . .”
“She wants to go to Court. . . .”
“She wants to go to Court. . . .”
“But what a piece of impudence!”
“Even if she was in that set once . . .”
“That is no reason . . .”
“Why she should dream . . .”
“Of being presented . . .”
“Now. . . .”
“Well, you’ll see: this winter . . .”
“She wants to go to Court. . . .”
“To Court. . . .”
“But that’s not the only reason.”
“No, he too is afraid that his parents will disinherit him, as far as they can . . .”
“And now he proposes . . .”
“To soften them, by means of the child . . .”
“Which isn’t even his!”
“What difference does that make?”
“The old people don’t know! . . .”
And they ferreted very industriously and dug up the sand and kept up their cross-fire as a sport for the tea-parties and evening-parties, at the Club and at Scheveningen.
“Look here,” said others, “Van der Welcke behaved like a gentleman.”
“What! To run away with another man’s wife?” ​“No, but to marry her afterwards.”
“There aren’t many who would have done it.”
“She’s older than he.”
“Six years older.”
“No, four years.”
“No one else would have done it.”
“No, no one.”
“And he was a deucedly decent fellow.”
“Always was.”
“Always was.”
“She was older than he, she knew the world . . .”
“And she seduced him; he was quite a youngster.”
It all sounded as though the years, the many years, had never existed.
“Yes, but, you know, it’s sometimes difficult, for a woman who’s young and pretty . . .”
“Then why did she marry such an old man?”
“Out of vanity, nothing but vanity.”
They judged, defended and condemned her as though the years, the many years, had never existed.
The acquaintances of the Van Lowes, or of their acquaintances, or the relations of their relations were no worse than other people. But they met one another at tea-parties and at evening-parties, at the Witte and at Scheveningen, and they must have food for conversation. Whatever important things might be happening in the world, the one interest, when all was said, was to discuss, over and over again, a case like that of Constance. They disliked neither her nor Van der Welcke; and her case even ​attracted their interest, if not their sympathies. Only, the Van der Welckes must not think that their memory was so poor that they did not remember the “case” jolly well. . . . Only, the Van der Welckes ought not to have come back to the Hague, bringing fresh scandal into the exalted morality of the different Hague sets. . . . Only, there must be no question that people who were so much talked about should dream of being presented to Court. . . .
“And nevertheless they do intend to be presented. . . .”
Constance, in her quiet happiness, noticed none of it; and Van der Welcke, who, at the club, was within nearer range of the cross-fire, did indeed sometimes observe a look and gesture, sometimes overheard a word, but thought it of no consequence, even when it caused him a moment’s irritation.