of an hour to supper time, Julia
had been too quick; still it did not matter, the coffee would not hurt
standing on the spirit-stove; it stood there half the day. She had all
this time to spare, but she did not fetch her crochet work; she went
outside to the veranda.

It was almost dark by this time, as dark as it ever got on these
nights; the air was still and warm. She opened the glass door and went
out and sat down on the step. There was a smell of water in the air,
not unpleasant, but quite un-English, and mixed with it a faint smell
of flowers, the late blooming bulbs have little scent on the whole; it
was more the heavy dew than the flowers themselves which one could
smell. It was very quiet out here; the town, at no time noisy, was
some distance away--so quiet that Julia could hear the ticking of Mr.
Gillat's large watch in her belt. She pushed it further down; she did
not want to hear it.

She propped her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands. She
wished she had not seen Rawson-Clew that day; she wished she was not
here, she wished there was no such thing as a blue daffodil; she was
vaguely angry and dissatisfied, but not willing to face things. It was
unlikely that the man had seen her, unlikely that she would see him
again; but he was incongruous in this simple life, and he brought
forcibly home the incongruity of herself and her errand. She had come
for the blue daffodil, it was no good pretending she had not; she told
herself angrily, as she had told herself when she had first looked at
Johnny's yellow-faced watch, that she was going to get it in some way
that was justifiable. Only it was not so easy to believe that now she
knew more about it and the Van Heigens. But she must have it, that was
the argument she fell back on, the necessity was so great that she was
justified (the Polkingtons had always found necessity a justification
for doing things that could be anyhow made to square with their
position).

She wished she had not been for the excursion to-day, that she lived
less really in their simple, sincere life. She wished from her heart
that the Van Heigens had been different sort of people--almost any other
sort, then she would not have had these tiresome feelings--Johnny and
Johnny's watch, Joost Van Heigen--there was something about them all
that was hatefully embarrassing. No self-respecting thief robbed a
child; even the most apathetic conscience revolted at such an idea. No
gentleman