“Yes,” replied Otto. “Dominé, when Ursula and I are married, we must go back to Java.”
“Never,” said the Dominé, and with a sweep of his walking-stick he knocked down a thistle.
“I—I am aware that perhaps I have hardly acted quite fairly,” began Otto, speaking with some agitation. “It has all come so suddenly; I have allowed myself to be overwhelmed. Apart from her general condemnation of India, which I have never treated quite seriously, the subject has not yet been mooted between us. I wished first to speak of it to you. I feel that I am asking—”
The Dominé had stopped in the middle of the narrow path.
“It was the condition,” he interrupted, hoarsely. “She made it the condition. Never.”
“No, indeed, we have not spoken of it,” cried Otto, in distress.
The Dominé stamped his foot. “Women always forget everything,” he said.
Otto hurried on. “I want to explain,” he continued, eagerly. “I hope you will let me explain. It is a most painful thing for all of us. I cannot stay at the Horst, Dominé; that is quite out of the question. In fact, the sooner I leave it the better.”
“Why?” broke in the Dominé, vehemently. “What nonsense! Of course you can stay at the Horst!”