It was getting rather late in the day. The sun had already risen high when Mr. and Mrs. van Gulpendam took their seat at the breakfast-table in the pandoppo. The Resident, according to his invariable custom, had risen early; but the ladies did not quite so soon recover from the fatigues of the last night’s ball. When, at length, fair Laurentia appeared in the pandoppo she found her husband sitting in full dress, light-blue coat and silver buttons on which the arms of Holland shone conspicuous; but evidently in very bad temper. He sat impatiently turning about a paper in his hands: “At last!” he cried. [135]  
“What do you mean by at last,” she rejoined, “I suppose that is to be my good-morning?”
 
“Very likely,” said he gruffly. “Now is this breakfast-time I ask you? You know how very busy I am.”
 
“Then why did you not have your breakfast before?” asked his wife.
 
“Why? why?” he grumbled, “that is always the way you women put us off! You know I don’t like to sit down to meals alone!”
 
“Then why did you not call Anna? She would have had some news to tell you,” replied the wife.
 
It appears that, after the party, Laurentia had not taken the trouble to enlighten her husband as to what had occurred on the previous evening. She had so much to do as hostess—and then she had not missed a single dance;—the young men of Santjoemeh had been simply charming!
 
“Anna, Anna,” growled van Gulpendam, “why, I have seen nothing of her yet. You women never can have a good stiff run without being knocked up all the next day! But—what is up with Anna? What news may she have to tell me?”
 
“I will leave that to her—Anna!—call your young lady,” said Laurentia turning to Dalima, who just then came into the pandoppo.
 
“Miss Anna will be here presently,” said the baboe.
 
“But meanwhile,” repeated van Gulpendam, “what news has the girl to tell me?”
 
“Oh,” said Laurentia wearily, “I would much rather she should herself tell you. She could much better explain it herself why she allowed van Nerekool to kiss her last night in the garden. But, I should like to know what paper that is there in your hand. You know I don’t like to see the rubbish at my table. There is room enough in the office for all that sort of thing; and what’s more you have my full leave to keep all those things there!”
 
Van Gulpendam had taken the rather startling communication of his wife quite coolly; so coolly, indeed, that it exceedingly provoked fair Laurentia. She had, therefore, sought to vent her displeasure upon something, and that something, she had found in the unlucky piece of paper.
 
“It is a telegram,” said van Gulpendam, moodily, “which I have just received, and which has annoyed me not a little.”
 
“A telegram?” she cried. [136]
 
“Yes, a message from the Hague. Look! yesterday evening at nine o’clock, this thing was sent off, and this morning by daylight, we have it here.”
 
“Well,” said Laurentia, in no mood to humour her husband, “do you call that so very quick? Don’t you remember Amy’s letter, when we had sent her our congratulations on her engagement? Our telegram left the office at Santjoemeh at eleven o’clock, and, she wrote to us, that the very same morning at nine o’clock, it was delivered to her. That’s quick if you like—it seems to me, rather more than quick!”
 
“Why, Laurentia” said her husband, “I have explained it to you. The reason lies in the difference of longitude.”
 
“Yes, yes, I know all about that, the sun turns—no the earth turns. Oh yes, I know all about it. But that does not alter the fact that it was very quick work. Fancy to receive a telegram, actually before it was sent off! But what can there be in that telegram from the Hague, to put you out so?”
 
“Bah!” said van Gulpendam, “what do you women know about business?”
 
“Yes, but tell me,” she insisted, “from whom is it?”
 
“It is from my brother Gerard,” replied van Gulpendam shortly.
 
“And what is it about?” asked Laurentia; “now don’t keep me waiting, it is not gallant.”
 
At the word gallant, van Gulpendam made a wry face, “Oh,” said he, “it is about the matter of the Netherland’s Lion. Nothing can come to it—unless—”
 
“Yes, unless what?” inquired Laurentia.
 
“Unless the opium monopoly at Santjoemeh, can be made to bring in a great deal more money than it does at present. The estimates of our colonial secretary are not at all approved of, and they reckon upon getting a couple of millions more from that source.”
 
“They, they, who are they?” continued Laurentia.
 
“Why—Sidin, pull down the blinds!” said the resident prudently. “That sun,” continued he, “is so troublesome shining through the venetians. You ask who are they? Why they are the government, the ministers, the Lower House in fact.”
 
“Oh,” said Laurentia, carelessly, “is that all?”
 
“Is that all! of course it is,” replied her husband grumpily, “quite enough too, you know as well as I do that the farmer pays more than twelve hundred thousand guilders for his privilege.” [137]
 
“Well,” said Laurentia, “what of that?—next year he will have to put down fifteen or eighteen hundred—there’s the end of it.”
 
“Of course,” growled the Resident, “it is easy enough to say there’s the end of it.”
 
“When is the contract to be renewed?” asked she.
 
“This September,” was the reply.
 
“Very good, then you leave it to me.”
 
“Yes, but—” objected van Gulpendam.
 
“Now, my dear,” said she, “pray, let us have no fuss, our dear Javanese friends will have to smoke a little more opium apiece—and—you will wear the bertes knabbeldat—what do you call the thing?”
 
“Virtus nobilitat” said van Gulpendam, with dignity.
 
“All right! the Virtus nobilitat, you will wear it in your button hole, but—it will be my doing.”
 
“How so?” asked the husband, in surprise.
 
“Now Gulpie, that is my secret. You will see, the opium contract will produce four or six hundred thousand more. Don’t therefore let us have any troubling about it before the time. Now let us change the subject. How is it,” she continued, “that you took so coolly what I just now told you about Anna? about Anna, you know, and van Nerekool?”
 
“Come,” said the Resident, “let us have our breakfast, Anna is not coming down it seems, and I have no time to spare.”
 
“All right,” said his wife, “let us have breakfast, but that will not, I hope, prevent you from answering my question?”
 
Van Gulpendam shook his head.
 
“Pass the coffee, nènèh,” said Laurentia to her maid Wong Toewa.
 
When the two cups of fragrant coffee stood before the pair, and each had cut a piece of bread, had buttered it, and spread upon it a thin slice of smoked venison, the lady, still anxious to have her answer, asked:
 
“Well now, Gulpie dear?”
 
“If I am ever to succeed in getting more out of the opium contract,” said he musingly, “I shall probably want van Nerekool’s help.”
 
“His help? What? for the opium contract?” said Laurentia, with an innocent smile, as if she understood nothing at all about the matter.
 
“Just listen to me,” replied her husband. “If Lim Ho, in that matter, you know, of Ardjan, should be found guilty and [138]condemned—why, then, his father Lim Yang Bing must, of course, be excluded from the competition altogether.”
 
“Why so?” asked Laurentia.
 
“Don’t you see why?” retorted van Gulpendam—“If for no other reason; then simply to shut the mouth of the papers. What a row they would make if the father of a man found guilty of opium-smuggling and of a barbarous outrage moreover, should have the monopoly granted him. Why it would be worse than the noise about the capstan when they are heaving the anchor!”
 
“But, my dear,” objected Laurentia, “do you think that at Batavia they will trouble themselves about the barking of the local papers?”
 
“Yes and no,” replied the Resident. “The curs themselves will be despised no doubt; but still, in self-defence, they will have to order an inquiry.”
 
“And you will be the man to hold it, won’t you?” said Laurentia, with a meaning smile.
 
“Possibly I might be, but what if the Dutch papers were to take up the cry?”
 
“Oh, the Dutch press!” said Laurentia, disdainfully. “It is pretty tame on the subject of opium. It will never join in a cry against it unless it be actually compelled.”
 
“Yes,” said the Resident, “that’s all very fine, but one never can tell how the cat may jump, or what secret influence may be at work. If Lim Ho is found guilty, it would most certainly be advisable that his father should not bid at all for the monopoly.”
 
“But,” said Laurentia, “he is the wealthiest of the Chinese Company.”
 
“I know that as well as you do,” grumbled her husband.
 
“Put him aside, and your bids will fall instead of rising,” insisted his wife.
 
“No doubt they will—”
 
“And then, my dear Gulpie,” said Laurentia, with a laugh, “you may whistle for your bertes knabbeldat.”
 
“Just so,” said he, moodily.
 
“But, if that be so,” persisted Laurentia, “it seems to me that Lim Ho must not be found guilty. He must be got off at any price, that’s my way of looking at it.”
 
“You are perfectly right, my dear,” replied the Resident, “and it is precisely for the purpose of getting him off, that I shall want van Nerekool’s help. If he should become [139]our son-in-law—or if the mere prospect of such a thing were to be held up to him—then—I have already told you, that I intend—as soon as Zuidhoorn is out of the way, to appoint him president of the court pro tem.”
 
“Yes,” broke in Laurentia, hastily, “but he won’t hear of it.”
 
“Won’t hear of it?” said her husband, slowly, and in surprise.
 
“No, he won’t hear of it.”
 
“How do you know that?”
 
“Well,” said Laurentia, “I will tell you. When last night I found these two young people hugging and kissing in the garden, I sent Anna about her business.”
 
“Yes,” said the Resident, very anxiously, “and then—”
 
“Then I just took the opportunity of sounding the young gentleman.”
 
“Of sounding him?” cried van Gulpendam in dismay.
 
“Aye, my word was ‘sounding’?” replied Laurentia, very quietly, “but I tell you there is no dealing with that fellow.”
 
Thereupon Laurentia told her husband pretty accurately what had taken place the night before in the Pandan grove and under the Tjemara trees, and reported to him the conversation she had there held with Charles van Nerekool. She omitted to tell him—very prudently too—that if she, by chance, had had to deal with a man of laxer morals and principles, she would have run great risk of becoming her daughter’s rival. When her story was ended, her husband heaved a deep sigh and throwing himself back in his chair he said:
 
“Oh those women, those women! You have gone to work much too rashly,” continued he. “You ought to have tacked about instead of running. No doubt you had a fair chance before you—a very nice south easterly trade—but you have thrown it away. You have gone full tilt at your object, and so have overshot your anchorage!”
 
“Oh, bother your tacks and runnings and trades and anchorages,” cried fair Laurentia, out of patience, and vexed beyond measure to find that all her fine management was so lightly spoken of. “You just let me alone, that’s the best thing you can do.”
 
“But,” said the Resident, “you have spoilt the whole job!”
 
“There was not much to spoil in the job, I can tell you, there was no doing anything with that booby.”
 
Very bitterly indeed did the fair woman speak these words. [140]If but her Gulpie had been able to seize the meaning of her smile. But after all the French realistic school may be right when it says that there is no blinder thing in the world than a husband. At all events, poor van Gulpendam did not see, or he did not understand that peculiar smile.
 
“No doing anything with him, you say? Ah, well, who knows. Just listen to me, Laurie. It is just possible, nay it is probable that, after such a conversation, van Nerekool will shortly—to-day perhaps or to-morrow—come and ask me for our Anna’s hand.”
 
“Well,” said Laurentia, “what then?”
 
“Then I shall see,” replied her husband with a self-satisfied smile, “then I shall see what port I must steer for. I may, perhaps, know how to bring him to his bearings. I may be clever enough to drive him into some harbour of refuge.”
 
“I hope you may,” said Laurentia, incredulously, “but I very much doubt your success.”
 
“Meanwhile,” resumed van Gulpendam, “you must use all your influence with Anna. It is very likely that van Nerekool will give her a hail before he makes up his mind to board me. Now, should that happen—why then all may be well—You understand me, Laurie, don’t you? Anna must be our strongest ally.”
 
“But,” cried Laurentia, “would you really give our dear, beautiful child to that sanctimonious young prig?”
 
“I must, if I can’t manage it otherwise; but, you see we are not on that tack just yet. If once we get into a good steady trade, and we have got what we want—why then, we shall no doubt find some means to get Anna to go about.”
 
Laurentia nodded. How little did these two parents know their own child!
 
“And,” continued the Resident, cynically, “to heave the love-stricken simpleton overboard as so much useless ballast.”
 
“Hush,” said he, “here she comes!”
 
“Good morning, Anna, my darling. You have slept soundly, I daresay, after your night’s dissipation. How she did enjoy herself! How the little corvette ran from the slips! Why! you did not miss a single dance!”
 
Anna, to use her father’s favourite phraseology, was thoroughly taken aback. Her father then, had heard nothing at all about it—absolutely nothing! After her adventure in the garden, she quite anticipated stern faces in the morning, and was prepared for a good scolding. That, indeed, was partly the [141]reason why she had lingered so much longer than usual in her room. And now, lo and behold! her father greeted her more kindly and more cheerfully than ever before. Perhaps mamma had had no time to make the serious communication. No, that was hardly possible, her parents had been for a considerable time together in the pandoppo, she knew that from Dalima. And yet—well—she replied to her father’s hearty greeting with an equally hearty kiss, and was just turning to her mother when van Gulpendam said:
 
“That’s right—now I have had my breakfast, I have had my morning kiss—now I must be off to work, there is plenty of it waiting for me. I must leave you ladies alone.”
 
“Anna,” continued he, more seriously, “listen attentively to what your mother will have to say to you. Remember you must take all that she will tell you as if it came from me. Good-bye, Anna, good-bye, Laurentia.”
 
And off he was, through the inner, into the front gallery, where he met his private secretary who had been, for some time, waiting for him. He shook hands, offered him a cigar, took one himself, and proceeded with great care to light it at the match which his oppasser respectfully offered him. When it was well lighted, he handed the taper to his subordinate, who addressed himself as carefully and as systematically as his chief to the important function of lighting his cigar.
 
This done, the two officials walked for awhile up and down the roomy gallery, discussing the morning’s news, and making arrangements for the day’s work which lay before them.
 
Meanwhile, nonna Anna had exchanged her customary morning greeting with her mother, and had sat down by her side at the breakfast table, while baboe Dalima offered her the cup of coffee which she had poured out at the little side-table.
 
“It is nice, miss Anna,” said she, with a pleasant smile to her youthful mistress.
 
Anna gave her a friendly little nod, took up the cup, and slowly sipped the fragrant decoction, now and then passing the tip of her tongue over her rosy lips as if unwilling to lose the least drop. When the little cup was empty, she handed it back to the baboe, with the words:
 
“Another cup.”
 
“Engèh, Nana,” answered Dalima, as she took the cup and hastened to the side-table.
 
Then Anna buttered a slice of bread; but she did this so [142]slowly and deliberately, with such an amount of concentrated attention indeed, that it was clear her mind was not upon what she was doing. In fact, she dreaded the opening of the impending conversation. Laurentia sat next to her daughter not speaking a single word; but keeping her eye constantly upon the girl. Very steadily she looked at her, and very kindly too. She sat admiring the pure, fresh complexion of the young girl, who, although she had passed a great part of the night in dancing, and had probably slept but very little during the remaining portion, was still as clear and bright as ever. She admired also her slim yet well rounded form, admirably set off by the pretty kabaja, and she sat calculating to what extent those charms might ha............