“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 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 have captivated that cold and pensive van Nerekool, to what extent they might force him to bow his neck under the yoke which was being prepared for him. But, if the mother’s eye brightened as she looked upon her daughter’s beauty, yet, amidst all this admiration, one sad thought would come up to her mind. More than a quarter of a century ago, van Hoop gave that thought utterance when he said:
“Daughter a-courting—mother grows old.” And then there came over her a feeling of jealousy, as she thought of the manly beauty of Charles van Nerekool, who had treated her with such strange indifference. Would she have to give up all hope of entangling that young man if he could be made to despair of ever obtaining Anna’s hand?
But—away with all such idle thoughts and fancies. The words of her husband were still ringing in her ears. Her business was to save the son of the opium-farmer, if she wished to see her dear Gulpie’s breast adorned with the bertes knabbeldat.
Thus, in silence, the daughter and the mother sat side by side. The former could not trust herself to speak, and tried to hide her confusion by affecting to be wholly engrossed in her breakfast, for which, if the truth were told, she felt but very little appetite. The latter sat collecting her thoughts, and making up her mind how best to make the attack.
At length, Laurentia began in the most affectionate manner.
“Anna, my dear child, now just tell me what could have induced you to walk about in the garden alone with Mr. van Nerekool last night?”
“Mother,” stammered the girl, in dire confusion.
“You need not blush so, my dear child,” continued her mother; “I saw quite enough yesterday to tell me all that is going on. But that does not make it clear to me how you formed that attachment. I fancy, Anna,” she continued, “I fancy I have some right to your confidence, have I not?”