Rawson-Clew knew exactly the kind of woman she had described for the deck--he met them often; charming creatures, far as the poles asunder from the girl who spoke of them; he liked them--in moderation, and in their place, much as his forebears of fifty years ago had liked theirs, the delicate, sensitive creatures of that era. He had never regarded Julia in that light; he found her certainly more entertaining as a companion, though also very far short of the standard as a woman and an ornament. "The people in the engine-room," he observed, "would certainly be more useful in an emergency; still, life is not made up entirely of emergencies." "No," Julia answered; "and in between times such people are better not on show--I know that; that is why I do not care for the drawing-room side of things, I don't know enough to shine in them." "Do you think it is a matter of knowledge?" he asked, "or inclination? If it comes to knowledge I should say you had a rather remarkable stock of an unusual sort, and at first hand. That may not be what is required for a complete drawing-room success, though I am not sure that it is not more interesting--say for an excursion--than a flitting glance at the subjects you mention, and about eighteen or twenty more that you did not." Julia looked up, half pleased, doubtful as to whether or not to interpret this as a compliment; she never knew quite how much he meant of what he said; his manner was exactly the same, whether he was in fun or in earnest. But if she thought of asking him now she was prevented, for at that moment Mr. Gillat's watch slipped out of her belt into her lap, and she saw the time. "How late is it!" she exclaimed. "We ought to have started half-an-hour ago; it will take me two hours, and more, to get home from here, even if I go by the tram in the town." She rose as she spoke, and he rose more slowly. "Shall I take your flowers for you?" he asked. "They seem rather inclined to tumble about; don't you think they would be safer in my pocket? As you say you are going to dry them, it won't matter crushing them." She gave them to him, and he put the sweet-smelling bunch into his pocket, then they started for the edge of the wood. "It is much colder," Julia said; "and the sun is all gone; I suppose the clouds have been coming gradually, but I did not notice before. If it is going to rain, we shall get decidedly wet before we get back." "I am afraid so," he agreed; "you have no coat." She told him that did not matter, she did not mind getting wet, and she spoke with a cheerful buoyancy that carried conviction.