“I went off into the interior for a few days; pretended I was going to look up a lot of ruins that, of course, I’d seen before--tombs of Arab priests and such. The hotel had got on my nerves, and the suburbs, full of Europeans, were even less what I was looking for. Besides, the Dorriens weren’t my affair; yet Dorrien was beginning to clutch me as if they were. I wouldn’t run away from any solitary creature, either man or woman--and I’ve been in some strange galleys, too--but when it comes to man and wife, ‘_ruf’ nicht die Polizei_,’ as the Germans have it. The Dorriens looked to me pretty near the breaking-point. I hoped they would either leave or have it out before I got back. When I got away, I forgot about it. I’m foot-loose, and nobody’s business is really mine. Fancy being responsible to and for a white-and-gold creature like Mrs. Dorrien! The very thought of it makes you want to take ship. “That particular interior wasn’t much good--eternal rice-fields, and little villages, one just like another, full of little people. The vegetation was something you couldn’t dream, even on hashish, but I’m dead used to vegetation. I nosed around for a few days, and then decided to quit the island entirely. I had engagements elsewhere, if I chose to think so. Anyhow, I wanted something doing. So I went back to Soerabaya. You get boats from there all over. “They said at the hotel that the Dorriens were leaving the next day. I didn’t look them up; but when I came down to dinner, Mrs. Dorrien was in her place, waiting for her husband. She beckoned to me and smiled, and I had to go over, though she looked more like a Frenchwoman than ever, and I was more a sweep than usual. I had to go; but I went thinking what a damn subtle thing marriage is at home, and how glad I was to be single. There are other sides to it, of course; but that’s the permanent one. Think of being married to a woman who would dress like that for an undercooked, half-caste dinner in a steaming Soerabaya hotel! Think, that is, of what she must be like at close range. She made me sit down. “‘We are leaving to-morrow, Mr. Hoyting.’ “‘Sorry.’ I couldn’t screw out more. “‘Yes. We’ve had our mail. We have to go.’ She straightened her shoulders and swept the room with a bored look, as if it were a ballroom full of men who danced badly. I didn’t know whether she was lying about the mail or not. I never get letters, thank God! I haven’t any address. What was certain was that I did not want her to tell me what was in their mail. I sidestepped. “‘I don’t suppose Soerabaya will soon see the like of that dress again, Mrs. Dorrien.’ It _was_ the most civilized thing I’d seen in a long time, though of course I don’t frequent table d’hôtes in most places. Anyhow, you know how colonial Dutch women get themselves up. ‘Aren’t you afraid the lizards will spoil it?’