“Then she’s a greater fool than I take her for. She’d have been a nurse-maid, sure as fate. And now she’s as good as a rich man’s daughter.”
“And I’m a mother to her that was motherless,” grunted Mevrouw complacently, “and because she’s poor and no real relation I allow her to call me ‘aunt.’”
“Besides which, if she behaves herself, who knows what may happen to her!” Mynheer Mopius jingled the loose cash in his trousers-pockets and looked askance at Ursula.
Ursula looked back at him, peacefully unconscious.
“I might leave her my money,” said Mynheer Mopius.
“Oh, that would be splendid!” cried Ursula.
Her uncle looked at her again. “Sly little thing!” he thought, but he said nothing. Only Jacóbus Mopius could have called Ursula little. His greatness caused him to see all things small.
He was a stunted, pompous man, with a big head and yellow cheeks. He had made his money in the Dutch Indies, as a notary.
Harriet came back in a fawn-colored frock with a pink rosebud pattern, made of some kind of nun’s veiling, high in the throat. Mynheer Mopius gazed at it in admiration.