ten or twelve times, I can't remember. . . . It was such heavenly, such heavenly happiness . . . that I forgot to count the number of times. . . . But you had better not come back any more. . . ."
"And why not, child? Are you angry . . . because I washed your face with that towel?"
"No, Gerrit, it's not that, I'm not angry about that. . . . I'm not angry at all. . . ."
Indeed, her eyes were laughing. Then she repeated:
"But still . . . you had better not come back."
"I see. So you've had enough of me?"
She gave a shrill laugh:
"Yes," she said.
"Oh! And have you found a young, rich chap, as I advised you?"
Her laugh sounded still shriller and her golden eyes were full of mockery.
"Yes," she said.
Under his heavy melancholy, he was angry and jealous:
"So you don't want me any more?"
"Want you? . . . I shall certainly want you, but . . . "
"But what?"
"It's better for every reason, better not. You mustn't came back, Gerrit."
"Very well."
"And don't be angry, Gerrit."
