They had not been sitting long on the beach when Van Lieverlee came sauntering-up, arrayed in white flannel. He was without a waistcoat, but wore a lilac shirt, and a wide, black-silk girdle, and had on a straw hat.
He gave the countess a graceful cordial greeting, and immediately said to Johannes, this time without irony:
"I sent to my uncle, this morning, for information. Your friend is not there now. He received his discharge last Saturday on account of his disorderly conduct."
"What had he done?" asked Johannes.
"He had delivered an address at the exchange when, mark you, he had gone there on a matter of business. Now," said Van Lieverlee, looking at the countess with a smile, "it is quite obvious that a man of affairs could not retain such a clerk as that. It takes my uncle Van Trigt, who is so jealous of his good name, to deal with such cases."
"Yes, I understand," said Dolores.
"It depends, though, upon what he said," ventured Johannes.
"No! One talks about business at the exchange—not about reason and morality. There is a time and a place for everything. My uncle was well satisfied with him in all else. He had taken him for a rather well-bred person, he said. But the man has a remarkable propensity for discoursing in public places."
"Where is he now?"
"Where is any idler who has received his discharge? Off looking for an easy berth, L should say."