“Yes, father—I do refuse most positively,” said Anna, in a tone not one whit less resolute than her father’s.
“Mind, you are utterly spoiling all his prospects in life,” said van Gulpendam, warningly.
“Better that,” was her reply, “much better, than that I should rob him of his honour.”
“It makes your marriage with him impossible.”
“I know it but too well,” sighed Anna, “but I cannot help that—the fault of that lies with my parents.”
“How can you make that out?” exclaimed Laurentia.
“He cannot, and he never shall, marry the daughter of parents who could venture to make him such infamous proposals!”
“Anna!” roared her father, “you are utterly forgetting yourself—it is time we should have no more of this. A girl who dares to make use of such language to her parents shows herself unworthy of them. I fully intended to put an end to this nonsensical love-story altogether. It has, indeed, already compromised you. I intended to send you away, for a while, on a visit to Karang Anjer; and I meant you to start on your journey next week. Now, however, I change my mind; and you must be off at once—to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow morning!” exclaimed Laurentia. “What will the Steenvlaks say to this sudden change of plan?”
“Assistant Resident Steenvlak,” replied her husband, “has been suddenly called away to Batavia. He has been obliged to leave Mrs. Steenvlak and her daughters at Karang Anjer, and, as he may be away from home for a considerable time, the family will no doubt be glad enough to have someone to stay with them during his absence. However that may be, Anna will, I am sure, be welcome. I am going to my office this moment and will at once send off a telegram to Karang Anjer. To-morrow morning Anna will start for Poerworedjo, a friend of mine will be there to meet her, and he will take her on in his carriage to the Steenvlaks. She will travel by way of Koetoe Ardjo and Keboemen.”