"I often thought of you, how nice you were and how kind, though you often pretended to be rough and put on such an angry voice. . . . Well, Gerrit, I had to go back to the Hague—you see, it's too long a story to tell you—and now, Gerrit, now I want to tell you, I'm very hard up . . . I haven't got a penny just now. . . . Please, Gerrit, can you give me fifty guilders?"
"Look here, if you think I'm well off, you're very much mistaken. I can't give you anything."
"Well, Gerrit, couldn't you give me twenty-five guilders? You'd be doing me a good turn."
"I haven't got it."
"Oh, but, please, Gerrit, can't you give me something?"
Gerrit fumbled in his pocket:
"Here's two rixdollars . . . and a ten-guilder piece. That's all I've got. I'm not rich and I don't go about with sheaves of notes in my pocket."
He gave her the fifteen guilders.
"Oh, Gerrit, thank you ever so much! Oh, Gerrit, how sweet of you!"
And, before he could stop her, she had thrown her arms round his neck and was kissing him wildly on the mouth.
He almost flung her from him:
"Look here, are you mad?"
"No, Gerrit, but I love you and you're such a dear. Thank you, Gerrit, thank you ever so much."
