She stood quite still with the thing in her hand, her mouth set
straight, and her eyes growing glitteringly bright. The round gilded
face stared up at her, reminding her in some grotesque way of Johnny;
poor, generous, honest, foolish old Johnny! She looked away quickly, a
sudden desire not to go with this moon-faced companion took possession
of her--a desire not to go at all, a horrible new-born doubt about it.

But feelings for abstract right and wrong, like personal likes and
dislikes, do not grow strongly where expediency and advisability and
advantage have to rule; she was only going to do what she must in
Holland; the debt must be paid, honour demanded no less; the blue
daffodil was the only hope of paying it. She was not going to steal a
bulb exactly; she was going to get it somehow, as a gift, perhaps,
opportunity must show how; and when it was hers, she could do with it
as she pleased, there was no wrong in that. She must go; she must do
it; the thing was so necessary as to be unavoidable, and not open to
question. She looked down, and her eye fell on the watch again; it
stared up at her in the same vacant way as Johnny had done that day
when he wanted to sell it and his other things to help them out of
their justly earned, sordid difficulties. With shame she had prevented
that, feeling the cause unworthy of the sacrifice. But this sacrifice,
for a still more unworthy cause, she was too late to prevent. Johnny
had gone. She looked earnestly to see if he was among those who
loitered about the stairs, or those in the more distant street. But
she could not see him, he was gone clean from sight; there was only
the busy, unfamiliar life of the river around; yellow, sunlit water;
the crowded craft, and the great stately wonder of the Tower Bridge
silently raising and parting its solid roadway to let some boat go, as
she would soon go down to the sea.