Datu Isa had a great many things to say as to the wearing of these garments. “You are my child, Rajah Ranee,” she said, “and I have thought a good deal as to whether, being a married woman, you ought to wear golden ornaments, because it is the custom in our country for virgins only to be thus decorated, but as you are the wife of our Rajah, I think that your Malay dress should be as splendid as possible, and we all agree that it will suit you well.” I did not share in this opinion. I loved wearing the dress, because of its beauty, but if the truth were told, a tall Englishwoman cannot expect to wear it with the grace which belongs to those tiny frail-looking daughters of the sun. They are all very small indeed, and the noiseless way they move about lends additional beauty to the dress. No European woman, accustomed as she is to freedom, exercise, and somewhat abrupt movements, can possibly imitate with any degree of success the way in which they glide about and manipulate their silken and gauzy draperies. It is interesting to know the ideas Malay women entertain about the wearing of these clothes. I was somewhat embarrassed with the length of my sarong, ordered by Datu Isa, and arranged by her so that it should fall in folds draggling on the ground. “Never mind, Rajah Ranee,” she would say, “you will get accustomed to it by and by, and you must remember that the Rajah’s wife never shows her feet.” “But why?” I said to Datu Isa. “Because,” she answered, “she is never supposed to walk about. She must have servants and subjects at her call every moment of the day. Now, if you wear that dress properly, you would not fasten it in very securely anywhere, but you would sit on cushions almost motionless, because at the slightest movement your clothes would fall off. The wives of the Sultan of Brunei never secure their kain tapes.” This was all very well; moreover, it must be remembered that Datu Isa was strictly conservative. Her ideas concerning ceremonial dress and deportment in Sarawak were as rigid as were those of aristocratic old ladies in Early Victorian days. But Datu Isa’s daughter-in-law, Daiang Sahada, who is about my own age, reassured me when I felt a little anxious as to whether I could play my part satisfactorily and not derogate from the exalted position Datu Isa was always striving to put me in. “We understand, Rajah Ranee,” she would say. “You must not be too anxious; we all know Datu Isa; she is kind and good and you must humour her. Little by little, she will understand, and will not mind if you wear your kain tape so as to allow you to walk a yard or so.”