"There's a lot of unexpectedness about women," he generalized with a didactic aim which seemed to miss its mark; for the next thing Heyst said was: "This is Mrs.Schomberg's shawl." He touched the stuff hanging over his arm.

"An Indian thing, I believe," he added, glancing at his arm sideways.
"It isn't of particular value," said Davidson truthfully.
"Very likely.

The point is that it belongs to Schomberg's wife.

That Schomberg seems to be an unconscionable ruffian--don't you think so ?" Davidson smiled faintly.
"We out here have got used to him," he said, as if excusing a universal and guilty toleration of a manifest nuisance.

"I'd hardly call him that.
I only know him as a hotel-keeper." "I never knew him even as that--not till this time, when you were so obliging as to take me to Sourabaya, I went to stay there from economy.
The Netherlands House is very expensive, and they expect you to bring your own servant with you.