A couple of days after Mrs. Meidema was sitting with her two daughters in one of the hinder galleries of her house. Our reader has already made a slight acquaintance with the pretty pair of twins on the occasion of the reception and ball at the Residence. They were now sitting with their [310]mother, very busy mending a heap of boys’ clothing which appeared to be in a deplorable state.  
“It is too bad,—really it is shameful,” said Gesina. “Now just do look at this, mother,—why the sleeve is literally torn out of it, and there is a huge rent right in the breast. I say, mother, do you think that jacket is worth patching up?”
 
“To be sure it is, Sijntje,” replied the mother, “now just you set to work with a will.”
 
“Those good-for-nothing boys!” cried Gesina, “they keep us stitching for them all day long.”
 
“Come, come,” threw in her sister Matilda, “boys will be boys, and ours are so full of spirits.”
 
“That is no reason, I suppose,” said Gesina, “why they should be climbing trees all day, and get their clothes in such a frightful state.”
 
“How do you suppose a boy is to keep out of a tree?” asked Matilda. “If I were a boy I would do just the same.”
 
The mother smiled at her daughter’s warm defence of her little brothers. “Oh, yes,” said she, “it would be a pretty sight to see Matilda up a tree.”
 
The two young girls had a laugh at the idea, and then Gesina said, “Don’t you think, mother dear, that you might get us a needlewoman to help us with all this heap of clothes.”
 
“My dear girl, what are you thinking about?” asked Mrs. Meidema.
 
“Well,” continued Matilda, coming to her sister’s help, “I must say I think the idea a very good one.”
 
“But, my dear girls, pray remember that a needlewoman would have to be paid, and pray where is the money to come from?”
 
“Anna van Gulpendam,” put in Matilda quickly, “I know always has her needlewoman.”
 
“No doubt she has,” said Mrs Meidema; “but you must remember, Tilda, that Anna is an only child, and that she is, moreover, the Resident’s daughter.”
 
“Is there then very much difference, mother, between the income of a Resident and that of an Assistant Resident.”
 
“I should think so, indeed,” replied Mrs. Meidema; “the Resident draws fifteen hundred guilders a month at least, and your father has at the most but five hundred.”
 
“So much difference as that,” said Matilda, seriously; “indeed I never thought it was so much.”
 
“And then, Tilda dear,” continued her mother, “as I said [311]before, the Resident has but one daughter, and we have five children to provide for.”
 
“Are children very expensive?” asked Gesina.
 
“You can reckon it up for yourself, Sijntje—there is food to get and clothing and school-fees and—oh, ever so many odds and ends besides.”
 
“It is a pity!” sighed the girl, after a while.
 
“What is a pity?”
 
“It is a pity that boys are such an expensive luxury, for they are jolly little fellows.”
 
“Now did you ever hear such a girl?” laughed Mrs. Meidema, “first she grumbles at the trouble those good-for-nothing boys give her, and then she calls them jolly little fellows!”
 
“Well, mother dear, you must let me grumble a bit now and then, I really can’t help it when we have such a heap of boys’ clothes to mend,” and with these words the young girl laid her fair head lovingly on her mother’s shoulder.
 
“Money is not everything,” said Matilda, sententiously, as she kept on stitching busily, while Mrs. Meidema was running her fingers through her daughter’s flowing curls.
 
The difference between her father’s income and the pay of Resident van Gulpendam led Matilda to make this philosophical remark.
 
“Of course not, Matilda,” replied Gesina, “of course not; money is not everything—look at us now, are we not happy?”
 
“Yes,” said Matilda, “and to complete the comparison, could anyone be happier even in the Residence itself? Oh, when I come to think over what has happened, I cannot help feeling very sad. Poor, poor Anna!”
 
“Have you had any news from her?” asked Gesina, who by this time had resumed her work.
 
“Yes, this morning I had a letter from Karang Anjer, such a wretchedly sad letter. Knowing Anna’s character as I do I can read despair in every word, and I fear—oh, yes, I fear, the very worst—She is capable, I do really think, of any desperate deed.”
 
“But,” cried Gesina, “what can be the matter with her?”
 
“I do not know the rights of it all,” replied her sister. “On those matters Anna is very reserved; but what I know is that her parents will not consent to her marriage with van Nerekool.”
 
“Oh, she will soon get tired of Karang Anjer, and then we shall have her back again.” [312]
 
“I think not; indeed she writes to tell me that it is her intention never to return. Her letter is so full of sorrow, so miserably despondent, it reads to me like a last farewell—as it were a parting for life. She writes to me as her best and truest friend, and beseeches me not to cast a stone at her should her despair prompt her to a step which will make the world scorn her memory. Mother dear, what am I to do, what can I do to relieve her—I wish I could go to see her at Karang Anjer!”
 
“My dear child,” said Mrs. Meidema quietly, “the very best thing you can do is to allude as little as possible, in your correspondence with Anna, to her attachment to van Nerekool. She has, as you yourself say, not taken you fully into her confidence; and from this you may conclude that there exist secrets which you cannot, without indiscretion, touch upon; and which it would only increase her pain to needlessly pry into. Time is the great healer, and it must have its soothing effect upon Anna in her distress. I know something of what has been going on, and I am in hopes that things may yet turn out well.”
 
“You know what has happened, mother?” cried Matilda, “do tell me all about it. I am so dearly fond of Anna, that anything which concerns her has, for me, the greatest interest.”
 
“Matilda,” replied Mrs. Meidema, “Anna, who I do not think herself knows just how matters stand, has thought it right to keep silent before you. She has, in my opinion, acted very wisely.”
 
“But, mother!”
 
“Yes, I say, she has acted very wisely in this matter, for she might perhaps have had to reveal to you a depth of wickedness which a young girl may very well remain ignorant of. You must allow me to follow her example. Just now you said, very wisely too, that money is not everything in the world. You were quite right, it is not. There now you see before you a family to which money is no object, which possesses moreover all other requisites for happiness, such as health, consideration, the highest position in our little society; and yet you see there is no happiness. No, money is not everything—But yet—”
 
As she said it, the poor woman heaved a deep sigh. The fact that she was sitting there with her daughters hard at work, showed plainly enough that the earthly dross was not altogether so indifferent to her as her words might seem to imply—and [313]she hesitated to go on—her girls looked up at her with an inquiring glance.
 
“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.
 
The needle-work had in all haste to be put away and concealed, and some light fancy work had to be snatched up; for it would never do to let that Chinaman see a European family employed in such drudgery.
 
“Tabeh njonja, tabeh nonna nonna. Saja halap—”
 
But we will not attempt to reproduce the Chinaman’s execrable Malay. In fact it would hardly be possible to do so, as the men of his nationality find the greatest difficulty to pronounce some of the consonants, and their talk is often extremely difficult to understand.
 
“Good-morning, madam; good-morning, young ladies,” said he most courteously, “I hope I am not intruding. I thought I might have found the Assistant Resident at home; but since I am not so fortunate, I take the liberty of paying my respects to the ladies—in the first place to inquire after their health, and also to tell them a great piece of news.” [314]
 
“News?” asked Mrs. Meidema, who like most women did not lack curiosity. “Pray be seated, babah.”
 
And, turning to the native servant who was sitting cross-legged on the steps of the gallery, she said:
 
“Todrono, bring a chair.”
 
As the Chinaman took his seat, the two girls looked at him with wonder-waiting eyes.
 
“And now, babah, for your important news!” said Mrs. Meidema, somewhat eager to hear it.
 
“First,” said Lim Yang Bing with another bow, “allow me to inquire after the state of the ladies’ health.”
 
“Oh, thank you,” replied Mrs. Meidema, “we are all perfectly well.”
 
“Toean Allah be praised,” cried the Chinaman in high-flown tones, but with the sweetest of smiles on his lips.
 
“Now for your news, babah!” cried Gesina impatiently.
 
“Yes, nonna, I don’t wonder at your curiosity, you are quite right, the young ladies especially will enjoy it.”
 
“But, babah, do pray speak out, tell me what it is all about,” cried Matilda as eagerly as her sister.
 
“Well,” said the Chinaman, “it is about a wedding.”
 
“A wedding!” exclaimed one.
 
“A Chinese wedding?” asked the other.
 
“Yes, ladies, yes, a Chinese wedding, as you say,” replied Lim Yang Bing, laying as much stress as he could upon his words.
 
“Delightful!” cried both the young girls.
 
“And who may the happy couple be?” asked Mrs. Meidema somewhat more soberly.
 
“I may not tell you that, nja.”
 
“Oh!” said Gesina with much disappointment in her voice, “then it is not decided yet.”
 
“Yes,” replied Lim Yang Bing, “it is quite certain; it is so far decided indeed that I have samples of the silk with me now.”
 
“Samples of the silk!” cried both the young girls in a breath.
 
“Yes, the samples of silk. You surely must have heard, young ladies, that on such occasions the betrothed couple always make some little presents to the invited guests. And since you ladies will, I hope, honour me by witnessing the ceremony, I have ventured to bring the samples along with me. Very fine silk indeed; I ordered it on purpose from Nan Hioeng. But you must judge for yourselves, ladies.” [315]
 
Therewith he produced a small parcel which he carefully unfastened and the contents of which he displayed to the women’s admiring gaze.
 
“Oh!” cried Gesina, “just look at that lovely green shot with red! what a charming dress that would make!”
 
“And,” exclaimed Matilda, “what a splendid blue! Dark blue with flowers. If I had to choose, I would—”
 
“And will not Mrs. Meidema make her choice?” asked Lim Yang Bing.
 
Mrs. Meidema could not help casting an eye upon the seductive parcel but—she hesitated.
 
“Come, come, pray select a sample for yourself, madam,” said the Chinaman with a supplicating look.
 
“But—babah—” she began, “I have never heard of gifts offered at Chinese weddings. I know they are customary at the New Year.”
 
“Yes, yes njonja, you are quite right, on that occasion we offer gifts all round to all our acquaintances; but at a wedding we only do so to our old friends, and—I take the liberty of reckoning the Assistant Resident among my very good friends.”
 
“Yes, but babah, you know Mr. Meidema, do you not?”
 
“Surely the njonja would not refuse my poor little present,” interrupted the Chinaman.
 
“Oh, mother, dear!” whispered Gesina beseechingly.
 
“No, babah, I will not downright refuse; but before coming to any decision or making any choice, I must have a talk to my husband.”
 
“Of course, of course,” hastily said Lim Yang Bing, “that is nothing more than right and proper. It makes matters, in fact, easier for me, as perhaps, madam, you would not mind to intercede for me with the Assistant Resident.”
 
“Intercede for you, babah!” cried Mrs. Meidema now thoroughly surprised. “You know that my intercession has but very little influence with my husband.”
 
The Chinaman smiled—it was a cunning leer, as he said:
 
“No, no, madam, I did not mean you to intercede for me—I cann............