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Updated: June 17, 2025
But Tony Cornish, who alone knew the full extent of Von Holzen's determination not to be frustrated, could not act for Dorothy's sake. A string of the quiet grey carts passed up Park Straat when the party assembled there had risen from the luncheon-table. Mrs. Vansittart and Mr. Wade were standing together at the window, which was large even in this city of large and spotless windows.
But I always have a little distrust for the foolishness of a person who has once been a knave. You know your uncle's reputation the past one, I mean, not the whitewash. Do not forget it." They had reached the corner of Oranje Straat, and Mrs. Vansittart paused on her own doorstep. "So you leave this morning," she said. "Remember that I am in The Hague, and well, we were once friends.
The grey carts had been passing up and down Park Straat more often than ever, taking their loads to one or other of the railway stations, and bringing, as they passed her house, a gleam of anger to Mrs. Vansittart's eyes. "The scoundrels!" she muttered. "The scoundrels! Why does not Tony act?"
Lysbeth van Goorl, recovered from her illness now, but aged and grown stern with suffering, sat in an armchair in the great parlour of her home in the Bree Straat, the room where as a girl she had cursed Montalvo; where too not a year ago, she had driven his son, the traitor Adrian, from her presence.
She rose and shook hands, looking Mrs. Vansittart in the eyes. When Dorothy had gone, the lady of the house stood for a minute looking at the closed door. "I wonder what she thinks of me?" she said. And Dorothy Roden, walking down Park Straat, was doing the same. She was wondering what she thought of Mrs. Vansittart.
He had met her by accident in the streets of The Hague a few hours ago, and having learnt her address, had, in duty bound, called at the house at the corner of Park Straat and Oranje Straat at the earliest calling hour. "I am not ignorant of your history since you were at Weimar," said the lady, looking at him with an air of almost maternal scrutiny. "I have no history," he replied.
She had walked all the way from Park Straat in the shade of the trees quite a pedestrian feat for one who confessed to belonging to a carriage generation. She had boldly entered the restaurant of the little hotel, and had told the waiter to take her to Mr. Cornish's apartment. "It hardly matters what a very young waiter, at the beginning of his career, may think of us.
A few street cleaners were leisurely working, a few milkmen were hurrying from door to door, but the houses were barred and silent. Cornish walked on the right-hand side of the road, which made it all the easier for Mrs. Vansittart to perceive him from her bedroom window as he passed Oranje Straat.
"His coat is of a good cloth," answered her customer, a young man with a melancholy dark eye and a racial appreciation of the material things of this world. Some say that it is not wise to pass through St. Jacob Straat or Bezem Straat alone and after nightfall, for there are lurking forms within the doorways, and shuffling feet may be heard in the many passages.
She went to the library instead a small, large-windowed room, looking on to Oranje Straat. From a drawer in her writing-table she took a key, and examined it closely before slipping it into her pocket. It was a new key with the file-marks still upon it. "A clumsy expedient," she said. "But the end is so desirable that the means must not be too scrupulously considered."
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