She gathered her white laces about her and shivered, as she rose to walk towards the house. On the stairs, at the same post by her dark window, like a spy, still stood the French governess.
“Ma vieille,” began Helena, “will you please tell mamma I have gone to my room with a very bad headache, and want nobody to disturb me--not even her or yourself.”
“The romance is changing to a tragedy,” said Helena. “Good-night.”
“Yes, uncle, I should like to go back to Horstwyk to-day,” Ursula was saying at breakfast. “I have had a letter from father, and Aunt Josine seems far from well.”
She had found the letter on her return from last night’s dissipation. It was a long and affectionate letter, full of praises of Otto, who came frequently to the Parsonage, enjoying the quiet strength of the minister’s talk. The letter certainly stated that Miss Mopius had been laid up with a feverish cold.
“Nonsense, Ursula,” cried Mynheer Mopius loudly. “Of course, Josine has been ill; it’s her solitary pastime. Why, your visit has hardly begun.”
“We want to hear all about last night,” interposed Harriet, in her sleepy tones. “You look quite worn out this morning; you must have enjoyed yourself immensely.”
“Oh, bother last night,” said Mopius. “We don’t care to know about the grandees. Were there many of them there?”
“Yes, there were a good many people,” replied Ursula, wearily, “most of them young. I didn’t enjoy myself so very much, because, you see, I don’t dance.”
“Was the Governor there, or his wife,” asked Mopius, “or the Burgomaster? I suppose you saw the Van Troyens?”
“And the Governor’s daughter?” added Harriet. “The pretty girl with the hazel eyes?”
“I remember a Mr. Van Troyen, an officer,” said Ursula, vaguely. “Uncle, may I send a telegram for this afternoon. I could always come back on Monday, you know.”
“Can’t you miss one of your father’s discourses? I should have thought Sunday was the one day you’d like to stay away. But I don’t see what you go out into society for, Ursula. At Batavia I danced with the Governor-General’s lady.”
“Always?” asked Harriet--her invariable question at this stage of the story.
“No, not always. I remember, just as I led her up, I saw there was a huge snake coiled round her arm.”