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.
“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.