"Go away!" she said; "go away! Do you hear?"
Rawson-Clew did not go away; he came nearer and Julia drew further into the corner, ensconsing herself behind the chopping-block, and looking about as inviting of approach as a trapped rat.
"Julia," he said.
"Go away!" was her only answer.
"Why did you send me away?"
"Because I wanted you gone."
"Because Captain Polkington is not dead? Is that it?"
"You are a dishonourable eavesdropper! No, it wasn't that."
He sat down on the chopping-block barricading her corner so that she could not get out without stepping over him. "Do you know it strikes me that you are not strictly honest either, at least not strictly truthful just now."
Julia tugged at her skirt; the chopping-block was on the hem and he on it so that she could not get free. "Will you please go," she said, with a catch in her breath. That is the worst of these half-suppressed, unspent storms of tears, they have such a tendency to return and break out again inconveniently.