on sense. She must have had some
destination in view when she left the Van Heigens yesterday, and, as
far as he could see, there was no destination open to her but home.

Mijnheer was firmly of this opinion, although, now that a question
about it had been suggested to him, he wished he had made sure before
the girl left. Of course, her plans and destination were no business
of his--she might even have refused to give information about them on
that account; he had dismissed her in disgrace, what she did next was
not his concern. But in spite of her bad behaviour he had liked her;
and though his notions of propriety, and consequent condemnation of
her, had undergone no change, he was kind-heartedly anxious she should
come to no harm. Her words about some good people making the merely
indiscreet into sinners came back to him, but he would not apply them;
Julia had gone home, he was sure of it, and a good thing too; the
Englishman with the quiet voice and the grand manner could not follow
her there to her detriment. Though, to be sure, it was strange that
such a man as he should want to; he was not the kind of person
Mijnheer had expected the partner in the escapade to be; truly the
English were a strange people, very strange. His wife agreed with him
on that point; they often said so afterwards--in fact, whenever they
thought of the disgraced companion, who was such an excellent cook.

As for Rawson-Clew, he returned to England; there was nothing to keep
him longer in Holland. But as he was still not sure how Julia's
"capital arrangement" was going to be worked out, and was determined
to bear his share of the burden, he decided to go to Marbridge on an
early opportunity.

The opportunity did not occur quite so soon as he expected; several
things intervened, so that he had been home more than a week before he
was able to fulfil his intention. Marbridge lies in the west country,
some considerable distance from London; Rawson-Clew did not reach it
till the afternoon, at an hour devoted by the Polkingtons most
exclusively to things social. It is to be feared, however, that he did
not consider the Polkingtons collectively at all; it was Julia, and
Julia alone, of whom he was thinking when he knocked at the door of
No. 27 East Street.

The door was opened by a different sort of servant from the one who
had opened it to him the last time he came; rather a smart-looking
girl she was, with her answers quite ready.

"Miss Juli