“But yet?” asked Gesina. “Pray finish what you had to say, mother.”
“Well,” continued Mrs. Meidema, “I had but very little to add; yet a couple of hundred guilders a year more would greatly improve our position. We have very heavy expenses to meet, we have a great deal of money to find; and—”
The awning which separated the back-gallery from the grounds beyond, and sheltered it from the glaring light outside, was here suddenly flung aside, admitting a dazzling flood of sunlight which made the three ladies look up in surprise.
“Babah Lim Yang Bing wishes to speak with the master,” said one of the servants.
“But your master is not in, he is at his office,” replied Mrs. Meidema, “you know that as well as I do.”
“I told the babah so, njonja,” said the man.
“Well?”
“He wishes to speak to the njonja.”
Mrs. Meidema made a gesture of impatience. But Lim Yang Bing, the wealthiest Chinaman in the residence of Santjoemeh—perhaps the richest man in all Dutch India—was not the kind of man who could very well be turned away. It was, moreover, no very unusual thing for him to come and pay his respects to the ladies and, on such occasions, he generally had some pretty little nick-nacks to show.
“Very well, show him in,” said Mrs. Meidema.