“No, thank you,” Julia said; “I will take it.”

Rawson-Clew did not seem to mind, and Julia, after she had lingered a little with her father, decided to come down again.  If she stayed away she knew perfectly well that Johnny would do nothing but talk about her; moreover it was absurd to be put out because Rawson-Clew could answer better than Mr. Gillat; that was one of the reasons for which she had liked him.

Captain Polkington sipped his tea and ate his bread and butter peacefully.  Julia had told him Mr. Rawson-Clew would not be staying long; she had not exactly said why he was come, it seemed rather as if she did not know; but apparently nothing unpleasant had happened so far and he would be going soon, directly after tea no doubt.  So the Captain sat contentedly and listened for the sound of going, but he did not hear it; they were a very long time over tea, he thought.

They were; two of them were purposely spinning it out, the third was only a happy chorus.  Julia was in no hurry to face the questions about the explosive which she feared must come when Johnny’s restraining presence was removed.  She knew, as soon as she was sure Rawson-Clew’s coming was design and not accident, that he must have suspected her; he had come to talk about it and he would do so as soon as he got the chance, so she put it off.  And he was quite willing to wait too; he was enjoying the present moment with a curious light-hearted enjoyment much younger than his years.  And he was enjoying the future moment, too, in anticipation, albeit he was a little shy of it—­he did not quite know how he was to close with the garrison in the citadel even though he might have taken all the outposts.

But at last tea was done and the table cleared and all the things taken to the outer kitchen to be washed.  Julia decreed that she and Johnny were to do that, then unthinkingly she sent her assistant for a tea-cloth.  Rawson-Clew was standing by the doorway when Johnny passed; he followed him out.

“Mr. Gillat, your plants want watering,” he said, quietly but decisively.

“They do, they do,” Johnny agreed; “I will have to do them by and by.”

“Do them now, it is getting late.”

“It is,” Mr. Gillat admitted; “we were late with tea, but there’s the drying of the cups.”

“I will do that.”

Johnny hesitated; Julia’s wish was his law, still there seemed no harm in the exchange; anyhow, without quite knowing how it happened, he soon afterwards found himself in the garden among the water cans.

Rawson-Clew went back to the outer kitchen.  Julia looked round as she heard his step, and seeing that he was alone, recognised the manoeuvre and the arrival of the inevitable hour.

“Well,” she said, coming to the point in a business-like way now that it was unavoidable; “what is it you want?”

“I want to know several things,” he said, shutting the door.  “Principally why you called your daffodil ‘The Good Comrade?’”