Rawson-Clew paused till she had finished; then, "I am sorry for any
misunderstanding there may have been," he said. "I trust you will
trouble yourself no farther in the matter," and he opened the door.

It was not a denial; it was not, so Julia considered, even an apology;
to her it seemed more like a polite request to mind her own business,
and she went up to her room after he had gone almost unjustly angry,
too angry for the time being to think about the rashness of her
promise that the debt should be paid.

"He thought us dirt," she said, sitting on the end of her narrow iron
bed. Then she smiled rather grimly. "And we are pretty much what he
thought us! Father sponged the money, and I decided to myself that the
repaying did not much matter. We are, as we looked to him, two grubby
little people of doubtful honesty, in a grubby room with Bouquet," and
she laughed outright, although she was alone, and the faculty for
seeing and deriding herself as others might, had a somewhat bitter
flavour. Nevertheless, she was very angry and quite determined to pay
the money somehow, so that at least it should appear to this man that
he was mistaken.

An hour later she carried Captain Polkington's tea down to him; when
tea was in the drawing-room his was always sent to him thus. She found
him not depressed at all, on the contrary quite cheerful, and even
dignified. He was reading something when she came in, and seeing that
she was alone, he handed it to her. It was from Mr. Rawson-Clew she
found, a sort of recognition of the discharge of the debt, or at least
a formal cancelling of it. It was carefully and conclusively worded,
certainly not the unaided work of the young man who had ridden past
last night. It was dictated by the other, she was sure of it; possibly