the laundry things. She was dressed in a long white shirt, or robe without a waist, that hung down to her knees, and that was fastened in front with a small black pin. Instead of a proper skirt or dress, she wore underneath a piece of dark linen with a flower-pattern, that seemed to be wrapped several times round her body, and fitted rather tightly round her hips and knees. There was not a trace of any pleats, width or girth, as surely ought to be the case with a woman’s dress. I was glad I had not sent Frits, for her get-up appeared to me very improper, and its strange character was further accentuated by the freedom of her movements, as though she felt quite at her ease. The creature did not seem to be in the least aware that she did not look like other women. It also appeared to me that she did not feel in any way awkward about my visit. She hid nothing under the table, moved no chairs about, and did nothing that, after all, is customary when a stranger of genteel appearance arrives.
Just like a Chinese, she had her hair combed back straight, and tied in a kind of loop or knot behind. Afterwards I learnt that her attire was a sort of Indian apparel, which over there they call sárong and Kabáï; but I thought it very ugly.
“Are you ‘Juffrouw’ Shawlman?” I asked.
“To whom have I the honour of speaking?” she said, in a tone that seemed to imply that I also should have introduced some honour into my question.
Well, I am not fond of paying compliments. It’s a different thing with a principal, and I have been in business too long than that I should not know my people. But to use fine phrases on a third floor seemed unnecessary to me. So I stated briefly that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker, Laurier Canal, No. 37, and that I wished to speak to her husband. Of course, why should I mince matters!
She motioned me to a cane chair, and took a little girl on her knee, who sat on the floor playing. The little boy whom I had heard singing looked me fixedly in the face, and took me in from
