Very bitterly indeed did the fair woman speak these words. 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.”