He was gifted with a strong and active imagination, and in that short space of time he saw, as in a flash of dazzling light, great piles of shining guilders, and realised all the possibilities of an opulent existence.

The consideration, the indolent ease of life--for which he felt himself so well fitted--his ships, his warehouses, his merchandise (old Lingard would not live for ever), and, crowning all, in the far future gleamed like a fairy palace the big mansion in Amsterdam, that earthly paradise of his dreams, where, made king amongst men by old Lingard's money, he would pass the evening of his days in inexpressible splendour.

As to the other side of the picture--the companionship for life of a Malay girl, that legacy of a boatful of pirates--there was only within him a confused consciousness of shame that he a white man--Still, a convent education of four years!--and then she may mercifully die.

He was always lucky, and money is powerful! Go through it.

Why not?
He had a vague idea of shutting her up somewhere, anywhere, out of his gorgeous future.