dingly she said with what dignity she could
that the girl had better stay till the evening.

Julia went down-stairs again and set to work preparing the dinner, and
it was perhaps only natural that she took pains to make that dinner a
memorably good one. It was while she was busy in the kitchen that a
note was brought to her.

"Put it on the table," she said to the servant girl; her hands just
then were too floury to take it, but she looked at it as it lay on the
table beside her. She did not recognise the writing, though she saw at
once that it was not that of a Dutchman. "Who brought it?" she asked,
beginning to clean her hands.

The servant could not say, but from her description Julia gathered
that it must have been a special messenger of some sort. On hearing
this, she did not trouble to clean her hands any more, but opened the
letter at once, making floury finger-prints upon it.

"DEAR MISS POLKINGTON, (it ran),

"There is one subject I did not mention to you yesterday;
you might perhaps have thought it too serious for holiday
consideration; nevertheless, it is a question that I feel I
must ask before I leave Holland. Will you do me the honour
of becoming my wife? I know there is rather a difference in
years between us, but if you can overlook the discrepancy,
and consent, you will give me the utmost satisfaction. I
honestly believe it will make for the happiness of us both;
I have a feeling that we were meant to continue our
'excursion' together.

"Very sincerely yours,

"H. F. RAWSON-CLEW."

So Julia read, and sat down suddenly on the flour barrel. She turned
to the beginning of the letter and read it through again, and when she
looked up her eyes were shining with admiration. "I am glad!" she said
aloud, but in English, "I am glad he has done it! It's splendid,
splendid! I never thought of it--but then I don't believe I knew what
a real gentleman was before!"

The maidservant started at her curiously; she could not understand a
word, but she saw that the letter gave pleasure, for which she was
glad; she liked Julia, and was very sorry she was going in disgrace;
she herself had occasional lapses from rectitude and so consequently
had a fellow feeling.

"You have a good letter?" she asked.

"Very good," Julia said; "but we must get on with the cooking; I will