The Hidden Force Part 25

"Why? Surely you're not jealous!"

She laughed aloud:

"No! That's not one of my failings."

"Then why?"

"What does it matter to you? I myself don't know. I hate her. I love tormenting her."

"Are you as wicked as you are beautiful?"

"What does wicked mean? I don't know or care! I should like to torment you too, if I only knew how."

"And I should like to give you a good smacking."

She again gave a shrill laugh:

"Perhaps it would do me good," she admitted. "I seldom lose my temper, but Doddie...!"

She contracted her fingers and, suddenly calming down, nestled against him and locked her arms about his body:

"I used to be very indifferent," she confessed. "Latterly I have been much more easily upset, after I had that fright in the bathroom ... after they spat at me so, with betel-juice. Do you believe it was ghosts? I don't. It was some practical joke of the regent's. Those beastly Javanese know all sorts of things.... But, since then, I have, so to speak, lost my bearings. Do you understand that expression?... It used to be delightful: I would let everything run off me like water off a duck's back. But, after being so ill, I seem to have changed, to be more nervous. Theo one day, when he was angry with me, said that I've been hysterical since then ... and I never used to be. I don't know: perhaps he's right. But I'm certainly changed.... I don't care so much what people think or say; I think I'm growing quite shameless.... They're gossiping too more spitefully than they used to.... Van Oudijck irritates me, prying about as he does. He's beginning to notice something.... And Doddie! Doddie!... I'm not jealous, but I can't stand her evening walks with you.... You must give it up, do you hear, walking with her! I won't have it, I won't have it!... And then everything bores me in this place, at Labuw.a.n.gi. What a wretched, monotonous life!... Surabaya's a bore too.... So's Batavia.... It's all so dull and stodgy: people never think of anything new.... I should like to go to Paris. I believe I have it in me to enjoy Paris thoroughly...."

"Do I bore you too?"

"You?"

She stroked his face with her two hands and pa.s.sed them over his chest and down his thighs:

"I'll tell you what I think of you. You're a pretty boy, but you're too good-natured. That irritates me too. You kiss everybody who wants you to kiss them. At Patjaram, you are always pawing everybody, including your old mother and your sisters. I think it's horrid of you!"

He laughed:

"You're growing jealous!" he exclaimed.

"Jealous? Am I really getting jealous? How horrid if I am! I don't know: I don't think I am, all the same. I don't want to be. After all, I believe there's something that will always protect me."

"A devil...."

"Possibly. Un bon diable."

"Are you taking to speaking French?"

"Yes. With a view to Paris.... There's something that protects me. I firmly believe that life can do me no injury, that nothing can touch me."

"You're becoming superst.i.tious."

"Oh, I was always that! Perhaps I've become more so.... Tell me, have I changed, lately?"

"You're touchier."

"Not so indifferent as I was?"

"You're livelier, more amusing."

"Used I to be a bore?"

"You were a little quiet. You were always beautiful, exquisite, divine ... but rather quiet."

"Perhaps it was because I minded people more then."

"Don't you now?"

"No, not now. They gossip just the same.... But tell me; haven't I changed more than that?"

"Yes, you have: you're more jealous, more superst.i.tious, more touchy.... What more do you want?"

"Physically: haven't I changed physically?"

"No."

"Haven't I grown older?... Am I not getting wrinkled?"

"You? Never!"

"Listen. I believe I have still quite a future before me, something very different...."

"In Paris?"

"Perhaps.... Tell me, am I not too old?"

"What for?"

"For Paris.... How old do you think I am?"

"Twenty-five."

"You're fibbing. You know perfectly well that I'm thirty-two. Do I look thirty-two?"

"Rather not!"

"Tell me, don't you think India a horrible country?... Have you never been to Europe?"

"No."

"I was there from ten to fifteen.... Properly speaking, you're a brown native and I a white creole...."

"I love my country."