Part 11 (1/2)
Its nature was, of course, a secret, but it would eventually raise the little army of Holland far above those of all other nations.
Julia listened, but especially to the last piece of information, which struck her as being the one most likely to prove interesting. Soon after hearing it, however, she was obliged to go. She made her farewells, and received messages of affection for Mevrouw, condolence for Mijnheer--who had a cold--and good wishes for Joost's journey.
Then she started homewards, with a light basket and a busy mind.
It did not take her very long to decide that if there was any truth in this talk of Van de Greutz's achievements, it must be the last mentioned--the explosive--which brought Rawson-Clew here. Her judgment of men, for working purposes at least, was quick and fairly accurate, necessity and experience had helped Nature to make it so. There were one or two things in connection with Rawson-Clew which were very clear to her, he was not a scientist pure and simple; she had never met one, but she knew he was not one, and so was not likely to be interested in the great chemist for chemistry only. Nor was he a commercial man; neither his instincts nor his abilities lay in that direction; it was not a new process, not a trade secret which brought him here. Indeed, even though he might appreciate the value of such things, he would never dream of trying to possess himself of them.
Julia understood perfectly the scale in which such acts stood to men like Rawson-Clew. To attempt to master a man's discovery for one's own ends (as in a way she was doing) was impossible, rank dishonesty, never even contemplated; to do it for business purposes--well, he might admit it was sometimes necessary in business--commerce had its morality as law, and the army had theirs--but it was not a thing he would ever do himself, he would not feel it exactly honourable. But to attempt to gain a secret for national use was quite another thing, not only justifiable but right, more especially if, as was probably the case, the attempt was in fulfilment of a direct order. If after Herr Van de Greutz had a secret worth anything to England, it was that which had brought Rawson-Clew to the little town. She was as sure of it as she was that it was the blue daffodil which had brought her.
The hateful blue daffodil! Daily, to possess it grew more imperative.
The intercourse with this man, the curious seeming equality that was being established between them, cried aloud for the paying of the debt, and the establis.h.i.+ng of the reality of equality. She longed almost pa.s.sionately to be able to regard herself, to know that the man had reason to regard her, as his equal. And yet to possess the thing seemed daily more difficult; more and more plainly did she see that bribery, persuasion, cajolery were alike useless. The precious bulb could be got in one way, and one only; it would never fall into her hands by skilful accident, or nicely stimulated generosity; she must take it, or she must do without it. She must get it for herself as deliberately as, in all probability, Rawson-Clew meant to get Herr Van de Greutz's secret.
She raised her head and looked at the flat, wet landscape with unseeing eyes that were contemptuous. How different two not dissimilar acts could be made to look! If she took the daffodil--and she would have unique opportunity to try during the next two days--Rawson-Clew would regard her as little better than a common thief; that is, if he happened to know about it. She winced a little as she thought of the faint expression of surprise the knowledge would call up in his impa.s.sive face and cold grey eyes. She could well imagine the slight difference in his manner to her afterwards, scarcely noticeable to the casual observer, impossible to be overlooked by her. She told herself she did not care what he thought; but she did. Pride was grasping at a desired, but impossible, equality with this man, and here, were the means used only known, was the nearest way to lose it. At times he had forgotten the gap of age and circ.u.mstances between them--really forgotten it, she knew, not only ignored it in his well-bred way. He had for a moment really regarded her as an equal; not, perhaps, as he might the women of his cla.s.s, rather the men of like experience and attainments with himself. That was not what she wanted, but she recognised plainly that in grasping at a shadowy social feminine equality by paying the debt, she might well lose this small substance of masculine equality, for there is no gulf so unbridgeable between man and man as a different standard of honour.
But after all, she asked herself, what did it matter? He need not know; she would pay, fulfilling her word, and proving her father an honest man (which he was not); the debtor could not know how it was done. And if he did, what then? If she told him herself--he would know no other way--she would do it deliberately with the set purpose of tarring him with the same brush; she would show him how his attempt on Herr Van de Greutz might also be made to look. He would not be convinced, of course, but at bottom the two things were so related that it would be surprising if she did not get a few shafts home. He would not show the wounds then, but they would be there; they would rankle; there would be some humiliation for him, too. A curious light crept into her eyes at the thought; she was surer of being able to reduce him than of exalting herself, and it is good, when circ.u.mstances prevent one from mounting, to drag a superior to the level of one's humiliation. For a moment she understood something of the feelings of the brute mob that throws mud.
By this time she had reached the town, though almost without knowing it; so deep was she in her thoughts that she did not see Joost coming towards her. He had been to escort Denah, who had thoughtfully forgotten to provide herself with a cloak; he was now coming back, carrying the wrap his mother had lent her.
Julia started when she became aware of him just in front of her. She was not pleased to see him; she had no room for him in her mind just then; he seemed incongruous and out of place. She even looked at him a little suspiciously, as if she were afraid the fermenting thoughts in her brain might make themselves felt by him.
He turned and walked beside her. ”I have been to take home Miss Denah,” he explained. ”I saw you a long way off, and thought perhaps I might escort you; but you are angry; I am sorry.”
Julia could not forbear smiling at him. ”I am not angry,” she said, as she would to a child; ”I was only thinking.”
”Of something unpleasant, then, that makes you angry?”
”No; of something that must have been enjoyable. I was thinking how, in the French Revolution, the women of the people must have enjoyed throwing mud at the women of the aristocrats; how they must have liked scratching the paint and the skin from their faces, and tearing their hair down, and their clothes off.”
Joost stared in amazement. ”Do you call that not unpleasant?” he said.
”It is the most grievous, the most pitiable thing in all the world.”
”For the aristocrats, yes,” Julia agreed; ”but for the others? Can you not imagine how they must have revelled in it?”
Joost could not; he could not imagine anything violent or terrible, and Julia went on to ask him another question, which, however, she answered herself.
”Do you know why the women of the people did it? It was not only because the others had food and they had not; I think it was more because the aristocrats had a thousand other things that they had not, and could never have--feelings, instincts, pleasures, traditions--which they could not have had or enjoyed even if they had been put in palaces and dressed like queens. It was the fact that they could never, never rise to them, that helped to make them so furious to pull all down.”
There was a sincerity of conviction in her tone, but Joost only said, ”You cannot enjoy to think of such things; it is horrible and pitiable to remember that human creatures became so like beasts.”
Julia's mood altered. ”Pitiable, yes; perhaps you are right. After all, we are pitiful creatures, and, under the thin veneer, like enough to the beasts.” Then she changed the subject abruptly, and began to talk of his flowers.
But he was not satisfied with the change; instinctively he felt she was talking to his level. ”Why do you always speak to me of bulbs and plants?” he said. ”Do you think I am interested in nothing else?”
”No,” she said; ”I speak of them because I am interested. Do you not believe me? It is quite true; you yourself have said that I should make a good florist; already I have learnt a great deal, although I have not been here long, and knew nothing before I came.”
”That is so,” he admitted; ”you are very clever. Nevertheless, I do not think, if you were alone now, you would be thinking of plants. You were not when I met you; it was the Revolution, or, perhaps, human nature--you called it the Revolution in a parable, as you often do when you speak your thoughts.”
”Why do you trouble about my thoughts?” Julia said, impatiently. ”How do you know what I think?”
”Perhaps I don't,” he answered; ”only sometimes it seems to me your voice tells me though your words do not.”