The Chinaman smiled—it was a cunning leer, as he said:
“No, no, madam, I did not mean you to intercede for me—I cannot have expressed myself properly—what I meant was—to intercede for the bridegroom.”
“For the bridegroom?” asked Mrs. Meidema. “Oh, yes; but who is the happy man, babah?”
“Madam, that is a secret—However, I may just as well tell you at once; as soon as you know who he is I feel sure I can reckon upon your sympathy. Well, the happy man, then, is my son Lim Ho.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Meidema very coolly, “and who is the young lady?”
“Ngow Ming Nio.”
“The daughter of Ngow Ming Than—is she not? A very pretty girl and a very rich girl too—I am sure I congratulate you, babah.”
“And now, may I reckon upon you, madam, to intercede for Lim Ho?” asked the Chinaman.
“I do not see,” said Mrs. Meidema, “in what Lim Ho can need my intercession.”
“Ah, well,” sighed Lim Yang Bing, “I fear that the poor boy is not in very good odour with the Assistant Resident. If only you would speak a good word for him, madam.”