was not much; or that Joost, could he know the case, would not have
grudged her one of his precious bulbs. There was only one thing she
admitted--it was there, and her need for it was great. With it she
could pay a debt that was due, show her father an honourable man, and,
seeing that the affair could always remain secret, raise herself
nearer to Rawson-Clew's level. Without it she could not.

She had come to the first barn now, and, unbarring the door, went in.
Almost oppressive came the dry smell of the bulbs to her; very
familiar, too, as familiar as the distorted shadows that her lantern
made. Together they brought vividly to her mind the first time she
went the rounds with Joost--the night when she told him she was bad,
the worst person he knew. Poor Joost, he had interpreted her words his
own way; she remembered very plainly what he said but two nights
ago--right and wrong, honourable and dishonourable, wise and unwise,
they meant the same thing to different people, the choosing of the
higher, the leaving of the lower--and he believed no less of her. That
belief, surely, was a thing that fought on the side of the angels? And
then there was that other man, able, well-bred, intellectual, her
superior, who had treated her as an equal, and so tacitly demanded
that she should conform to his code of honour. And there was Johnny
Gillat, poor, old round-faced Johnny, who, under his silly, shabby
exterior, had somewhere, quite understood, the same code, and standard
of a gentleman, and never doubted but that she had it too--surely
these two, also, were on the side of the angels?

But it was not a matter of angels, neither was it a matter of this
man's thought, or that. At bottom, it seemed all questions could be
brought to plain terms--What do I think? I, alone in the big, black,
contradictory world. Julia realised it, and asked herself what it