The Good Comrade. Una L. Silberrad
Joost set down the lantern in sheer surprise. "Such things cannot depend on fashion," he said severely.
"I am not so sure," Julia answered; "lots of things you would not expect depend on it. I know people who sometimes go without the food they want so that they can buy expensive cakes to show off when their acquaintances come to tea—that's silly, isn't it? Then I know other people who blush if a pair of breeches, or something equally inoffensive, are mentioned; that seems equally silly. One lot of people is ashamed to be seen eating bread-and-cheese suppers, another lot is ashamed to be seen walking off the side-walk, and with no gloves on. One would hardly expect in, yet I almost believe these silly little things somehow make a difference to what the people think right and wrong."
Joost regarded her doubtfully, though he could only see the outline of her face. "Are you making fun?" he asked. "I do not know when you are making fun; I think you must be now. Are you speaking of us?"
"I never felt less like making fun in my life," Julia answered ignoring the last question. Something in her tone struck Joost as sad, and he forgot his question in sympathy.
"I am sorry," he said; "you are unhappy, and I have intruded upon you; will you forgive me? You are thinking of your home, no doubt; you have not had a letter from England for a long time."
Julia wished he did not notice so many things. "I did not expect a letter," she said; "my eldest sister was married last week, there would be no time to write to me till everything was over; most likely I shall hear to-morrow."
"Is your sister married?" he asked; "and you were not able to be present?"
"It is too far to go home from here," Julia said; then asked, "Were you going to the barns?"
"Yes," he answered, suddenly reminded of the fact. Then seeing she did not resume her seat on the steps, he ventured diffidently, "Will you come too?"
She assented, and they started together in silence, Joost thinking her homesick, not knowing quite what to say. When they came to the first of the dark buildings they went in, and he swung the lantern round so that their shadows danced fantastically. Then he tried various doors, and glanced up the wall-ladder to the square opening which led to the floor above. There was no need to examine the place minutely, it was all quiet and dark; if there had been any one about they would certainly have heard, and if there had been anything smouldering—a danger more to be feared, seeing that the men smoked everywhere—it could have been smelt in the dry air.
"I like these barns," Julia said, looking round: "they are so big and quiet and orderly, somehow so respectable."
"Respectable!" he repeated, as if he did not approve of the word. "Is that what you like? The respectable?"
"Yes, in its place; and its place is here."
"You think us respectable?"
"Well, are you not? I think you are the most respectable people in the world."
She led the way through to the next barn as she spoke. "You are going here, too, I suppose?" she said.
"I will just look round," he answered.
They went on together until they came to the last barn of all; while they paused there a moment they heard a rustling and movement in the dark, far corner. Joost started violently, then he said, "It is a rat, you must not be afraid; it will not run this way."
"I am not afraid," Julia said with amusement. "Do you think I am afraid of rats?"
"Girls often are."
"Well, I am not," and it was clear from her manner that she spoke the truth.
"Would you be afraid to come out here alone?" he asked curiously.
"No," she said; "any night that you like I will come here alone, go through the barns and fasten the doors."
"I do not believe there are many girls who would do that," he said; he was thinking of Denah and Anna.
Julia told him there were plenty who would. As they came back, stopping to fasten each door after them, he remarked, "I think girls are usually brought up with too much protection; I mean girls of our class, they are too much shielded; one has them for the house only; if they were flowers I would call them stove-plants."
Julia laughed. "You believe in the emancipation of women then?" she said; "you would rather a woman could take care of herself, and not be afraid, than be womanly?"
"No," he answered; "I would like them to be both, as you are."
They had come outside now; she was standing in the misty moon-light, while he stayed to fasten the last door.
"I?" she said; "you seem to think me a paragon—clever, brave, womanly. Do you know what I really am? I am bad; by a long way the wickedest person you have known."
But he did not believe her, which was perhaps not altogether surprising.
CHAPTER VI
DEBTOR AND CREDITOR
Violet Polkington was married, and, as a consequence, the financial affairs of the family were in a state that can only be described as wonderful. They were intricately involved, of course, and there was no chance of their being clear again for a year at least; but, also, there was no chance of them being found out, appearances were better than ever.
Mr. Frazer had been given a small living, whether by the deserved kindness of fortune, or by reason of his own efforts, or the Polkingtons, is not known. Anyhow he had it, and he and Violet were married in June with all necessary éclat. Local papers described the event in glowing terms, appreciative friends said it was the prettiest wedding in years, and in due time Chèrie wrote and told Julia about it. The Captain also wrote; his point of view was rather different, but his letter filled up gaps in Chèrie's information, and Julia's own past experience filled up the remaining gaps in both.
The letters came on Tuesday, as Julia expected, a little before dinner time; she was still reading them when Mijnheer and his son came in from the office. Joost smiled sympathetically when he saw she had them, glad on her account; and she, almost unconsciously, crumpled together the sheets that lay on the table beside her, as if she were afraid they would betray their contents to him.
"You have good news from home?" said Mijnheer; "your parents are well?"
"Quite well, thank you," Julia answered. She had just come to the place in her father's letter where he regretted that such very light refreshments were the fashion at wedding receptions. "It is, of course, as your mother says, less expensive, but at such a time who would spare expense—if it were the fashion? I assure you I had literally nothing to eat at the time, or afterwards; your mother thinking it advisable as soon as we were alone, to put away the cakes for future visitors. At such a time, when a man's feelings are nearly touched, he needs support; I did not have it, and I cannot say that I have felt myself since."
Julia read to the end of the letter; Mijnheer had by this time taken up a paper, but Joost watched her as she folded the sheets. He did not speak, it seemed he would not intrude upon her; there was something dog-like in this sympathy with what was not understood. She felt vaguely uncomfortable by reason of it, and spoke to break the spell. "Everything went off very well," she said.
The words were for him alone, since Mijnheer was now reading, and also knew nothing of the subject. The smile brightened on his face. "Did it?" he answered. "I am very glad. They must have missed you much, and thought often of you."
Julia nodded. Chèrie had said. "I must say I think it is a pity you were not here; it is important to have some one with a head in the