The day wore on. Julia missed Joost's presence at meals; they were not
in the habit of talking much to each other at such times, it is true,
but she always knew when she talked to his parents that he was
listening, and putting another and fuller interpretation on her words.
That was stimulating and pleasant too; it was a new form of
intercourse, and she did not pretend she did not enjoy it for itself,
as well as for the opportunity it gave her of probing his mind and
trying different ideas on him.
At last dinner was over, and tea; the tea things were washed, and the
long-neglected fancy work brought out. A clock in the passage struck
the hour when, of late, after an exhilirating verbal skirmish with the
anxious Denah, she had set out for the village and Rawson-Clew.
She did not pretend to herself that she did not enjoy that too, she
did immensely; there was a breath from the outside world in it; there
was sometimes the inspiring clash of wits, of steel on steel, always
the charm of educated intercourse and quick comprehension. To-night
there was nothing; no exercise to stir the blood, no solitude to
stimulate the imagination, no effort of talk or understanding to rouse
the mind. Nothing but to sit at work, giving one-eighth of attention
to talk with Mevrouw--more was not needed, and the rest to the blue
daffodils that lay securely locked up in a place only too well known.
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