“I am nothing of the sort,” Julia said sharply.  They were in the dense shadow of the trees, so he could not see her face, but her voice sounded strange to him.  “You do not know what you are talking about,” she said; “hardly in my life have I asked myself if a thing is right or wrong—­do you understand me?  Right and wrong are not things I think about.”

“It is quite likely,” he said, serenely; “different persons have different names for the same things, as you have once said; one calls it ‘honourable’ and ‘dishonourable,’ and another ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ and another ‘wise’ and ‘unwise.’  But it is always the same thing; it means to choose the more difficult path that leads to the greater end, and leave the other way to the lesser and smaller souls.”

Julia caught her breath with a little gasping choke.  Joost turned and looked at her, puzzled at last; but though they had now reached the house, and the lamplight shone on her, he could make out nothing; she brushed past him and went in quickly.

The next day Joost started for Germany.  It rained more or less all day, and Julia did not go out, except for half-an-hour during the morning, when she was obliged to go marketing.  She met Denah bound on the same errand, and heard from her, what she knew already, that she would not be able to come and superintend the crochet that day.  And being in a black and reckless mood, she had the effrontery to laugh a silent, comprehending little laugh in the face of the Dutch girl’s elaborate explanations.  Denah was a good deal annoyed, and, though her self-esteem did not allow her to realise the full meaning of the offence, she did not forget it.

Julia went home with her purchases, and spent the rest of the day in the usual small occupations.  It was an interminably long day she found.  She contrived to hide her feelings, however, and behaved beautifully, giving the suitable attention and suitable answers to all Mevrouw’s little remarks about the weather, and Joost’s wet journey (though, since he was in the train, Julia could not see that the wet mattered to him), and about Mijnheer’s cold, which was very bad indeed.

The day wore on.  Julia missed Joost’s presence at meals; they were not in the habit of talking much to each other at such times, it is true, but she always knew when she talked to his parents that he was listening, and putting another and fuller interpretation on her words.  That was stimulating and pleasant too; it was a new form of intercourse, and she did not pretend she did not enjoy it for itself, as well as for the opportunity it gave her of probing his mind and trying different ideas on him.

At last dinner was over, and tea; the tea things were washed, and the long-neglected fancy work brought out.  A clock in the passage struck the hour when, of late, after an exhilirating verbal skirmish with the anxious Denah, she had set out for the village and Rawson-Clew.