He was very shy of the master himself, as if suspicious that the pent-up feelings of the white man towards his person might find vent in a sudden kick.

But the cooking shed was his favourite place, and he became an habitual guest there, squatting for hours amongst the busy women, with his chin resting on his knees, his lean arms clasped round his legs, and his one eye roving uneasily--the very picture of watchful ugliness.

Almayer wanted more than once to complain to Lakamba of his Prime Minister's intrusion, but Dain dissuaded him.

"We cannot say a word here that he does not hear," growled Almayer.
"Then come and talk on board the brig," retorted Dain, with a quiet smile.

"It is good to let the man come here.