comfort in this thought, but it did not last long, for
just then the silence was broken, there was a sound of steps, not
going down the path to the gate, but coming towards the kitchen door!
The Captain rose hastily--it was too bad of Julia, too bad! He was not
fit for these shocks and efforts; he was not what he used to be; the
terrible cold of the winter in this place had told on his rheumatism,
on his heart. He crossed the room quickly. The door which shut in the
staircase banged as that of the big kitchen was pushed open.

"You had better take your boots off here, Johnny," Julia said; "you
have got lots of mud on them."

She took off her own as she spoke, slipping out of them without having
much trouble with the laces. Rawson-Clew watched her, finding a
somewhat absurd satisfaction in seeing her small arched feet free of
the clumsy boots.

"Are not your stockings wet?" he said.

"No," she answered; "not a bit."

"Are you quite sure? I think they must be."

"No, they are not; are they, Johnny?" She stood on one foot and put
the other into Mr. Gillat's hand.

Johnny felt it carefully, giving it the same consideration that a wise
housekeeper gives to the airing of sheets, then he gave judgment in
favour of Julia.

"I was right, you see," she said; "they are quite dry."

She looked up as she spoke, and met Rawson-Clew's eyes; there was
something strange there, something new which brought the colour to her
face. She went quickly into the other kitchen and began to get the
tea.

Johnny came to help her, and the visitor offered his assistance, too.
Julia at once sent the latter to the pump for water, which she did not
want. When he came back she had recovered herself, had even abused
herself roundly for imagining this new thing or misinterpreting it.
There was no question of man and woman between her and Rawson-Clew;
there never had been and never could be (although he had asked her to
marry him). It was all just impersonal and friendly; it was absurd or
worse to think for an instant that he had another feeling, had any
feeling at all--any more than she. And again she abused herself,
perhaps because it is not easy to be sure of feelings, either your own
or other people's, even if you want to, and it certainly is not easy
to always want what you ought. Moreover, there was a difference; it
was impossible to overlook it, she felt in herself or him, or both.
She had altered since they parted at the Van Heigens',