PART ONE - CHAPTER VIII

by Kathleen Norris

　　It was Christmas time before Julia saw Doctor Studdiford again, and thenit was but for a few minutes. Christmas Eve was wet and blowy out ofdoors, but the assembly hall of The Alexander looked warm and bright;there were painfully made garlands of green looped about the windows,bells of red paper hung from all the chandeliers, and on the stage anenormous Christmas tree glittered with colour and light. Six hundredpeople were crowded into the room, more than half of them children.Babies twisted and climbed on the laps of their radiant mothers, smallgirls and boys everywhere were restless with excitement andanticipation. Miss Toland only appeared at intervals, spending most ofthe afternoon with a few chosen guests in the reception hall, but Juliawas everywhere at once. She wore a plain white linen gown, with a bit ofholly in her hair and on her breast, and whether she was marshallingsmall girls into groups, stopping to admire a new baby, meeting theconfectioner's men and their immense freezers at the draughty side door,talking shyly with the directors in Miss Toland's room, or consolingsome weeping infant in the hall, she was followed by admiring eyes.

　　At three o'clock the general restlessness visibly increased, and the airin the hall, between steaming wet garments and perspiring humanity,became almost insufferable. Julia experimentally opened a door and letin a wet blast of air, but this was too drastic, and her eyes werebrought back from a wistful study of the high windows by a voice thatsaid:

　　"Merry Christmas! Give me a stick, and I'll do it for you!"

　　The girl found her hand in Doctor Studdiford's, and their eyes met.

　　"I didn't know you were here!" said Julia, in swift memory of their lastmeeting.

　　"Just come." He looked at her, all kindliness. "How goes it?"

　　"Finely," Julia answered. When he had opened a window, he followed heracross the room. "I may stay near you, mayn't I?"

　　"I am just going to begin," Julia said, taking her place at the piano,and facing the room across the top of it. Her small person seemedsuddenly fired with authority. She struck a full chord. "Children!" shesaid. "Children! Who is talking? Some one is still talking! Keep still,everybody, please! Keep still, every one.

　　"Now we are going to sing the 'Adeste'—four verses. And then we'll giveout the presents. Listen, every one! We are going to sing the 'Adeste,'and then give out the presents. The presents, of course, go only to ourown girls and boys, do you understand that? Listen, children, please!

　　"But we have a box of candy for every child here, whether that childcomes to any of the classes or not! So don't go home without your candy.And don't come up for your present until you hear your name called, doyou understand that? If I see any child coming up before Miss Piercecalls her name, I'll send her right back to her seat! Now, the 'Adeste,'please!"

　　Jim had listened in intense amusement. How positive she was and howauthoritative! Her straight little back, her severe braids, her sternblue eyes roving the hall as she touched the familiar chords, were allso different from the vague young women who were Barbara's friends. Sheplayed a few wandering chords after the distribution of gifts began,watching the children file up the aisle, and listening, with only anoccasional lifting of her blue eyes to his face, to Doctor Studdiford'ssmiling comments. Her heart was beating high under a flood of unsensedjoy, she did not know why—but she was happy beyond all words.

　　"I'm afraid I'll have to go help Miss Pierce and Miss Furey, Doctor,"she said presently, standing up. "Our Miss Scott, who got married twoyears ago, used to be a perfect wonder at times like this! Here, littlegirl, little girl! You don't come to the classes, do you? No? Well,then, go back to your seat and wait—you see!" She turned despairinglyto Jim. "You see, they're simply making a mess of it!"

　　"I have to go, anyway," said Jim.

　　"Oh?" Julia turned surprised eyes toward him, and said the one thing shemeant to avoid. "But Mrs. Toland and Miss Barbara are coming," shesubmitted.

　　"And what of it?" Jim said meaningly. It was his turn to say the awkwardthing. "How are the nerves these days?" he asked quickly.

　　Colour flooded Julia's face.

　　"Much better, thank you! I gave the tonic up weeks ago. It was justnerves," explained Julia, "a sort of breakdown after we came back fromCloverdale! And I'm so much obliged to you!" she ended shyly.

　　"Oh, not at all, not at all!" Jim protested gruffly. An unmanageablesilence hung between them for a few seconds; then Julia, with a murmuredexcuse, went to the extrication of Miss Pierce, now hopelessly involvedin a surge of swarming children, and Jim went on his way. He carriedwith him a warm memory of the erect young figure in white, and the thicktwisted braid, set against a background of Christmas green. For Juliathe rest of the afternoon was enchanted; an enchantment subtly flavouredwith the odour of evergreen, and pierced by rapturous voices, and by theglowing colours of the Christmas tree, and the slapping rain at thewindow.

　　She and Miss Toland sat down, exhausted and well satisfied, at seveno'clock, to a scrappy little supper in the littered dining-room: onedirector had left chocolates, another violets; a child's soiled hairribbon, still tied, lay on the floor; the chairs were pushed about atall angles.

　　"Give me some more coffee, dear, and open that box of candy," said MissToland luxuriously. "We'll sleep late, and go to high mass at theCathedral. Alice always has room in her pew. And then we might go overto Sausalito and say 'Merry Christmas.' They'll all be scattered; Jimtells me he and my brother have an operation at twelve, poor wretches!And I suppose Barbara and little Sally will be off somewhere. Sallyalways tries to keep them together for Christmas Eve, but in my opinionthey're all bored by this tree and stocking business. But of course Nedand his extraordinary wife will be all over the place!"

　　"I've not been in Sausalito, except once, for eight years," Julia saidreflectively.

　　"I know you've not. Well, we'll go to-morrow." Miss Toland reached for acigarette; yawned as she lighted it. But Julia's heart began to beatfast in nervous anticipation.

　　Mrs. Toland received them very graciously the next day, and Julia was atonce made to feel at home in the pretty house, which was litteredcharmingly to-day with all sorts of Christmas gifts, and bright withopen fires. Barbara was there, and the crippled Richie, but Sally hadgone to a Christmas concert with her devoted little squire, KeithBorroughs, and Mrs. Toland presently took Miss Sanna aside for a long,distressed confidence. Theodora, it seemed, had had a stormy argumentwith her father on the subject of her admirer, Robert Carleton, somedays before, and yesterday had left, in defiance of all authority, tomeet him for a walk, and lunch with him. She and her father had notspoken to each other since, and Ted was keeping her room. Julia metNed's wife, a pretentious, complacent little gabbling village belle, andwas dragged about by the younger sisters to look at everybody'spresents.

　　"Must be a long time since we saw you here, Miss Page?" said the olddoctor, smiling at her over his glasses, as he carved at luncheon.

　　"I was here two years ago, one afternoon," Julia smiled. "But I think Ihaven't seen you since 'The Amazons'—eight years ago!"

　　"Eight years!" Barbara said, struck. "Mother, do you realize that it iseight years since I was in that play with the Hazzards and Gray Babcockand the Grinells? Isn't that awful?" She fell into sombre thought.

　　Julia went through the day in a sort of deep study. This was theenchanted castle that had stood to her for so long as the unattainableheight of dreams; these were the envied inhabitants of that castle.Everything was the same, except herself, yet how incredibly the changein her affected everything about her! She was at home here now, couldanswer the table pleasantries with her ready, grave smile, could feelthat her interest in Constance and Jane was a pleasure to them, or couldpick a book from the drawing-room table with the confidence that whatshe said of it would not be ridiculous. She could even feel herselfhappier than Barbara, who listened so closely to what Julia said of thesettlement house, and sighed as she listened.

　　After luncheon Richie took her driving over cold country roads, behind abig-boned gray mare, and adored her, though she never dreamed it,because she neither offered to take the reins nor asked him at intervalsif his back was tired. He was finishing work at the school of medicinenow, and although he could never hope to be in regular practice, histhin, bony face was very bright as he outlined his plans. Julia listenedto him sympathetically, and said good-bye to him at the boat with asense of genuine liking on both sides. Miss Toland was waiting for heron the upper deck, her long nose nipped and red in the cold air.

　　"Well, he saw that you didn't miss it, after all!" said she, with awelcoming light for Julia in her sharp eyes, though she did not smile."Sit down! I've been hearing nice things about you, my dear! I said toSally, 'So there is something in old maids' children, eh?'" Miss Tolandchuckled; she was well pleased with her protegee. Julia settled herselfcomfortably beside her. She liked to watch the running gray water, andto feel the cold December wind in her face. The thought of Mark wasalways with her, poor Mark! so much more in her heart dead than living!But to-day his memory seemed only a part of the tender past; it wastoward the future that her heart turned; she felt young and strong andfull of hope.

　　In the new year Jim began to come pretty regularly to the settlementhouse. Sometimes he stayed but for two minutes, never for more than ten,and usually, even if Julia was out, he left some little gift for her, abook or a magazine, flower seeds, or violets, or a box of candy. Shewould glance up from the soiled and rumpled sewing of some small girl tofind Jim smiling at her from the stage door, or come back from herlittle shopping round and have a moment's chat with him on the steps.She grew more and more silent, more and more self-contained, but herbeauty deepened daily, and her eyes shone like blue stars.

　　"God, I will not believe it—I cannot believe it!" said Julia, on herknees, at night, her hands pressed tight against her eyes. "But I thinkhe is beginning to love me!" And she walked in a strange dazzle ofhappiness, rejoicing in every sunny morning that, with its warmth andblueness and distant soft whistles from the bay, seemed to promise thespring, and rejoicing no less when rain beat against the windows of TheAlexander, and the children rushed in upon her at three o'clock withraindrops in their hair and on their glowing cheeks. The convent garden,in the February mornings, the assembly room, with late uncertainsunlight checking its floor in the long afternoons, the Colonialrestaurant filled with lights and the odours of food at night, all thesefamiliar things seemed strangely new and thrilling, and the arrival ofthe postman was, twice a day, a heart-shaking event.

　　In April Doctor Toland went on a fortnight's trip to Mexico, and tookhis third daughter with him, in the undisguised hope of winning somesmall share of her confidence, and convincing her of his owndisinterested affection. Two days later Barbara telephoned her aunt theharrowing news of Sally's elopement with Keith Borroughs, and MissToland went at once to Sausalito, taking Julia along.

　　They found the big house full of excitement. Richie was with his mother,who had retired to her room and was tearful and hysterical; Ned and hiswife had gone back after Christmas to the country town, where he held asmall position under his father-in-law; and Jim was doing both his ownwork and that of his foster father for the time being, and could not befound by telephone; so Julia was received by Barbara and the two youngergirls, who were not inclined to make light of the event.

　　"Four years younger than Sally!" said Constance, not for the first time.

　　"It's not that," Barbara contributed disgustedly. "But he's onlynineteen—not of age, even! And he hasn't one single penny! Why, Mrs.Carter was thinking of sending him abroad for two years' work with hismusic. I see her doing it now! Little sloppy-haired, conceited idiot,that's what he is!"

　　"And Richie says he'll have to have his mother's consent before he canmarry her," said Jane with a virtuous air.

　　"It's too disgusting!" Barbara added, giving Jane a sharp glance. "Andyou oughtn't talk that way, Jane; it doesn't sound very well in a girlyour age to talk about any one's having to marry any one!"

　　"I know this," said Constance gloomily. "It's going to give this familya horrible black eye. A fine chance we'll have to marry, we youngerones, with Sally disgracing every one this way!" Constance was thehandsomest of all the Tolands, and felt keenly the disadvantages ofbeing the youngest of four unmarried sisters.

　　"Don't worry about your marriage until it comes along, Con," saidBarbara wearily.

　　"I'll bet I marry before you do!" said Constance, without venom.

　　"I long ago made up my mind never to marry at all," Barbara said, with abored air. Julia chuckled.

　　"It is so funny to hear you go at each other," she explained. "It soundsso cross—and it really isn't at all! Don't worry, Miss Toland," sheadded soothingly, "Miss Sally wouldn't marry him if she didn't lovehim—"

　　"Oh, she loves him fast enough!" Barbara admitted, consoled.

　　"And if people love each other, it's all right," Julia went on. Barbarasighed.

　　"Oh, I hope it is, Julia!" said she, as conscious of the littlefamiliarity for all her abstracted air as Julia was, and suspecting thatit thrilled Julia, as indeed it did.

　　"And it's all the result of idleness, that's what it is, and that's whatI've been telling your mother," said Miss Toland, coming in. "You've allgot nothing to do except sit about and think how bored you are!"

　　"Oh, Auntie, aren't you low?" Barbara said tranquilly, going to take anarm of her chair. "All sorts of people elope—there's nothing sodisgraceful in that."

　　"It's disgraceful considering what a father you've got, and what amother!" Miss Toland said vexatiously. "And Ted worrying your father todeath about that scamp, too! I declare it's too much!"

　　"He's a pretty rich scamp, and a pretty attractive scamp," Barbara saidin defence of Theodora's choice. "He's not like that kid of a Keith!"

　　Julia heard the garden gate slam, and a quick, springing step on theporch before the others did, but it was Jane who said, "Here's Jim!" andBarbara who went to let him in.

　　"Oh, Jimmy, have you heard of Sally?" she faltered, and as they came infrom the hall Julia's quick eye saw that she was half clinging to hisshoulder, sister fashion, and that his arm was half about her.

　　"Hello, every one!" said his big, reassuring voice. "How's Mother?Hello, Aunt Sanna—and Miss Page, too! Well, this is fun, isn't it? Yes,Miss Babbie, I've heard of Sally, Sally Borroughs, as she is now—"

　　"What! Married?" said every one at once, and Mrs. Toland, making animpressive entrance with Richie, sank into a deep chair and echoed:"Married?"

　　"Married, Mother dear," said Jim. "They found me in Dad's office at fiveo'clock; Keith's father, a fierce sort of man, was with them, and wasfor calling the whole thing off. Sally was crying, poor girl, and Keithmiserable—"

　　"Oh, poor old Sally!" said Barbara's tender voice.

　　"You should have brought her straight home to me!" Mrs. Toland addedseverely.

　　"Well, so I thought at first. But they had their license, which would bein the morning papers anyway, and Sally had done the fool thing ofmailing letters to two girl friends when she left here this morning—"

　　"She left me a mere scribble, pinned to her pin-cushion," said hermother, magnificently. "Just as any common actress—"

　　"Oh, Mother! it wasn't pinned to her cushion at all!" Barbara protested."She had no pincushion, she has a pin tray."

　　"I hardly see how it matters, Babbie; it was on her bureau, anyway! Justlike a servant girl!" Mrs. Toland persisted.

　　"Well, anyway, it seemed best to push it right through," said Jim,"especially as they persisted that they would do it again or die—orrather, Sally did!"

　　"Oh, Jim, don't!" wailed Sally's mother. "Poor, deluded child!"

　　"I don't mean that Keith wasn't fiery enough," Jim hastened to say."He's a decent enough little fellow, and he's madly in love. So we allwent up to the French church, and Father Marchand married them—"

　　"A child of mine!" said Mrs. Toland, stricken.

　　"Keith's father and I witnessed," pursued Jim, "and we both kissed thebride—"

　　"Sally! And she was such a dear sweet baby!" whispered Mrs. Toland, bigtears beginning to run down her cheeks.

　　"Ah, Mother!" Constance said soothingly, at her mother's knees.

　　"Sally's of age, of course," Jim argued soothingly, "and one couldn'tbring her home like a child. The thing would have gotten out, and she'dhave been a marked girl for life! There's really no reason why theyshouldn't marry, and the boy—Keith, that is, put her into a carriagequite charmingly, and they drove off. They'll go no farther thanTamalpais or the Hotel Rafael, probably, for Keith has to be back atwork on Monday, and I made him promise to bring Sally here on Sundaynight."

　　"And what will they live on?" Mrs. Toland asked stonily.

　　"That isn't worrying them. Sally has—what? From those bonds of hergrandfather's?"

　　"Three hundred a year," Mrs. Toland said discouragingly.

　　"And Keith gets fifty-five a month. That's eighty—h'm!" pursued Jim.

　　"Well, some of us simply will have to help them," suggested Mrs. Toland,with a swift, innocent glance at Miss Sanna.

　　"His father will have to help," Miss Toland countered firmly.

　　They presently adjourned to the dining-room, all still talking—evenJulia—of Sally. Sally would have to take the Barnes cottage, at fifteendollars a month, and do her own cooking, and her own sewing—

　　"They can dine here on Sundays," said Sally's mother, sniffing andwiping her eyes.

　　"And wouldn't it be awful if they had a baby!" Jane flung out casually.

　　Every one felt the indelicacy of this, except Julia, who relieved allJane's hearers by saying warmly:

　　"Oh, don't say awful! Why, you'd all go wild over a dear little baby!"

　　Doctor Studdiford gave her a curious look at this, and though Julia didnot see it, Barbara did. After dinner the doctor and Barbara playedwhist with the older ladies, and Julia sat looking over their shouldersfor a few minutes, and then went upstairs with Constance and Jane for along, delightful gossip. The girls must show her various pictures ofKeith and Sally, books full of kodak prints, and everywhere Julia sawJim, too: Jim from the days of little boyhood on to to-day, Jim as campcook, Jim as tennis champion, Jim riding, yachting, fishing; a youngerJim, in the East at college, a small, stocky, unrecognizable Jim, inshort trousers and straw hat. And everywhere, with him, Barbara.

　　"That's when they gave a play—I was only five," Constance said. "See,this is Jim as Jack Horner, and Babbie as Mother Goose. And look! here'sJim on a pony—that's at his grandfather's place in Honolulu, He stayedthere a month every year, when he was a little boy, and Mother andBarbara visited there once. Here we all are, swimming, at Tahoe. Andhere's Bab in the dress she wore at her coming-out tea—isn't it dear?And look! here she is in an old dress of Jim's mother, and see the oldpearls; aren't they lovely? Jim gave them to her when she was twenty."

　　"Jim was crazy about her then," said Jane.

　　"I don't think he was," Constance said perversely.

　　"Oh, Con, you know he was!" Jane protested. "He was, too," she added, toJulia.

　　"I don't think he was," persisted Constance lightly.

　　Barbara came in a second later, and again the talk went back to Sally.

　　"Mother and Aunt Sanna said good-night," reported Barbara, "and AuntSanna said to leave the door between your rooms open, and—oh, yes,Doctor Studdiford has been teasing Aunt Sanna to stay for a few days,Miss Page; he says you look as pale as a little ghost!"

　　"I liked so much to have you call me Julia," was Julia's extremelytactful answer to this. Barbara, perhaps glad to find her message socasually dismissed, smiled her prettiest.

　　"Julia—then!" and Barbara sat down on a bed, and began to roll up herbelt. "Aunt Sanna says she gives Sally and Keith about three months—"she began.

　　Two days later, on Sunday, the bride and groom came home. Sally, wholooked particularly well and was quite unashamed, rushed into hermother's arms, and laughed and cried like a creature possessed. Shekissed all her sisters, and if there was a note of disapproval in herwelcome, she did not get it. Richie having charitably carried off thesomewhat sullen young husband, the bride was presently free to open herheart to the women of the house.

　　"It's all so different when you're married, isn't it, Mother?" bubbledSally. "Going into hotels and everything—you don't care who looks atyou, you know you've a perfect right to go anywhere with your husband!Now, that look that Keith just gave me, as he went off withRichie—blazing! Well, it would just have amused me when we wereengaged, but now I know that he's simply wretched with jealousy, andI'll have to pet him a little and quiet him down! He is a perfect childabout money; he will spend too much on everything, and if we go abroadI'll simply have to—"

　　"Go abroad?" every one echoed.

　　"Oh, I think we must, for Keith's music," Sally said gravely. "He can'tsettle down here, you know. He's got to live abroad, and he's got tohave lessons—expensive lessons. Office work makes him too nervous,anyway."

　　"Well, my dear, I hope you have money enough to carry out these pleasingplans," said Miss Toland dryly.

　　"Well, we have my twenty-five a month," Sally said capably, "and Keith'sfather ought to give him another twenty-five, because the expense ofhaving Keith live at home will be gone, and"—Sally fixed a hopeful eyeon her mother—"and I should think Dad would give me at least that,Mother," said she. "I must cost him much more than that!"

　　"Oh, I—don't—know!" said Mrs. Toland guardedly, taken unawares, andslowly shaking her head.

　　"Then I thought," pursued the practical Sally, "that if you would giveme half the clothes of a regular trousseau, and if Dad would give us ourtravelling expenses to Berlin for a wedding present—why, there youare!"

　　"But you two couldn't live on seventy-five dollars a month, Sally!"

　　"Oh, Mother, Jeannette said you could get a lovely room for two—in apension—for a dollar a day! And that leaves forty for lessons, two aweek, and five dollars over!"

　　"For laundry and carfare and doctor's bills," said Miss Tolandunsympathetically.

　　"Well!" Sally flared, resentful colour in her cheeks.

　　"And Dad will never consent to anything so outrageously unfair as livingon thirty-five and spending forty for lessons!" said Barbara.

　　Poor little Sally looked somewhat crushed.

　　"For heaven's sake don't let Keith hear you say that, Babbie!" she saidnervously. "It makes him frantic to suggest that you can get decentlessons in harmony for nothing! I don't know what you know about it,anyway. I'll fix it with Dad!"

　　"If Dad allows Sally so much, he ought to do the same for the rest ofus," Constance suggested. Julia, foreseeing a scene, slipped out of theroom.

　　In the hallway she encountered Doctor Studdiford, who was justdownstairs after a late sleep. Jim had the satisfied air of a man whohas had a long rest, a shave and a bath, and a satisfactory breakfast.

　　"Family conference?" he said, nodding toward the sitting-room door.

　　"Sally and Keith are here," Julia announced.

　　"Oh, are they? Well, I ought to go in. But I also ought to walk up tothe Ridge, and see that poor fellow who ran a shaft into his leg." Jimhesitated. "I suppose you wouldn't like to go with me?" he asked, withhis sudden smile. Julia's heart jumped; her eyes answered him. "Well,wrap up snug," said Jim, "for there's the very deuce of a wind!"

　　So Julia tied herself into the most demure of hats, and buttoned herlong coat about her, and Jim shook himself into his heaviest overcoat,and pulled an old cap down over his eyes. They let themselves out at aside door, and a gust of wet wind howled down upon them, and shook ashower from the madly rippling ivy leaves. The sky was high and pale,and crossed by hurrying and scattered clouds; a clean, roaring gale toreover the hills, and ruffled the rain pools in the road, and bowed thetrees like whips. The bay was iron colour; choppy waves chased eachother against the piers. Now and then a pale flicker of sunlightbrightened the whole scene with blues and greens and shadowsspectacularly clear; then the clouds met again, and the wind sang like asnapped wire.

　　Julia and the doctor climbed the long flights of stairs that cutstraight up through the scattered homes on the hill. These earthen stepswere still running with the late rain, and moss lay on them like a greenfilm. Julia breathed hard, a veil of blown hair crossed her bright eyes,her stinging cheeks glowed.

　　"I love this kind of a day!" she shouted. Jim's gloved hand helped herto cross a wide pool, and his handsome eyes were full of all delight ashe shouted back.

　　Presently, when they were in a more quiet bit of road, he told her ofsome of his early boyish walks. "Listen, Julia!" he said, catching herarm. "D'you hear them? It's the peepers! We used to call them that,little frogs, you know—sure sign of the spring!"

　　And as the wind lulled Julia heard the brave little voices of a hundredtiny croakers in some wet bit of meadow. "We'll have buttercups nextweek!" said Jim.

　　He told her something of the sick man to whom they were going, and spokeof other cases, of his work and his hopes.

　　"Poor Kearney!" said Jim, "his oldest kid was sick, then his wife had anew baby, and now this! You'll like the baby—he's a nice little kid. Itook him in my arms last time I was here, and I wish you could have seenthe little lip curl up, but he wouldn't cry! A kid two months old can beawfully cunning!" He looked a little ashamed of this sentiment, butJulia thought she had never seen anything so bright and simple andlovable as the smile with which he asked her sympathy.

　　She was presently mothering the baby, in the Kearneys' little hotliving-room, while Doctor Studdiford caused the patient in the roombeyond to shout with pain. The howling wind had a sinister sound, heardup here within walls, and Julia was glad to be out in it, and going downthe hills again.

　　"Well, how do you like sick calls?" asked Jim.

　　"I was glad not to have to see him," Julia confessed. "But it is adarling baby, and such a nice little wife! She has a sister who comes upevery afternoon, so she can get some sleep, poor thing. His mother isgoing to pay their rent until he gets well, and he gets two dollars aweek from his union. But she said that if you hadn't—"

　　"Well, you know now, for such a quiet little mouse of a girl, Julia, youare a pretty good confidence woman!"

　　"And the baby's to be named for you!" Julia ended triumphantly.

　　"Lord, they needn't have done that!" said the doctor, with his confused,boyish flush. "Look, Julia, how the tide has carried that ferryboat outof her course!"

　　Julia's heart flew with the winds; she felt as if she had never knownsuch an hour of ecstasy before. They had crossed the upper road, andwere halfway down the last flight of steps, when Jim suddenly caught herhand, and turned her about to face him. Dripping trees shut in thisparticular landing, and they were alone under the wind-swept sky. Jimput his arms about her, and Julia raised her face, with all a child'sserene docility, for his kiss.

　　"Do you love me, Julie?" said Jim urgently, then. "Do you love me,little girl? Because I love you so much!"

　　Not the words he had so carefully chosen to say, but he said them ascore of times. If Julia answered, it was only with a confused murmur,but she clung to him, and her luminous eyes never moved from his own.

　　"Oh, my God, I love you so!" Jim said, finally releasing her, only tocatch her in his arms again. "Won't you say it once, Julia, just to letme hear you?"

　　"But I did say it," Julia said, dimpling and rosy.

　　"Oh, but darling, you don't know how hungry I am to hear you!"

　　"How—how could I help it?" Julia stammered; and now the blue eyes sheraised were misty with tears.

　　Jim found this satisfactory, intoxicatingly so. They went a few stepsfarther and sat on a bit of dry bulk-heading, and began to discuss themiracle. About them the winds of spring shouted their eternal promise,and in their hearts the promise that is as new and as old as spring cameto dazzling flower.

　　"My clever, sweet, little dignified girl!" said Jim. "Julia, do you knowthat you are the most fascinating woman in the world? I never saw anyone like you!"

　　"I—Oh, Jim!" was all that Julia said, but her dimples and the nearnessof the blue eyes helped the stammered words.

　　"Among all the chattering, vapid girls I know," pursued Jim, "you standutterly alone, you with your ambitions, and your wiseness! By George!when I think what you have made of yourself, I could get down andworship you. I feel like a big spoiled kid beside you! I've always hadall the money I could spend, and you, you game little thing, you'vegrubbed and worked and made things do!"

　　"I never had any ambition as high as marrying you," Julia said, with themysterious little smile that at once baffled and enchanted him. "When Ithink of it, it makes me feel giddy, like a person walking in a valleywho found himself set down on top of a mountain! I never thought ofmarriage at all!"

　　"But you are going to marry me, sweet, aren't you?" Jim asked anxiously."And you are happy, dear? For I feel as if I would die of joy andpride!"

　　"Oh, I'm happy!" Julia said, and instantly her lip quivered, and hereyes brimmed with tears. She jumped to her feet, and caught him by thehand. "Come on!" she said. "We mustn't be so long!"

　　"But darling," said Jim, infinitely tender, "why the tears?"

　　For answer she caught his coat in her shabbily gloved little hands.

　　"Because I love you so, Jim," she faltered, trying to smile. "You don'tknow how much!" Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and for a moment hereyes looked far beyond him, down into the valley, and at the iron-coldbay with its racing whitecaps. Then she took his hand, and they began todescend the steps.

　　"I may tell my mother, Julie?" Jim asked joyously. "And Aunt Sanna? Anddo you know that Julia is one of my favourite names—"

　　"No, I want you not to tell any one," Julia decided quickly. "You mustpromise me that. Nobody." Something in her tone surprised, a littlechilled, him.

　　"Julie—but why?"

　　"Well, because we want to be sure—"

　　"Oh, sure! Why, but, dearest, aren't you—"

　　"No, but wait a moment," Julia interrupted, and Jim, turning toward her,saw a real trouble reflected in her face. "I want you to meet my mother,and my own people," she said, scarlet cheeked. Jim's grave,comprehensive look met hers.

　　"And I want to, dear," he said. And then, as her face did not brighten:"Why, my dearest, you aren't going to worry because your people aren'tin the Social Register, and don't go to the Brownings'? I know all sortsof people, Ju—Kearney, up there, is a good friend of mine! And I knowfrom Aunt Sanna that you're a long way ahead of your own people."

　　"I don't know whether it's 'ahead' or not," said Julia, with a worriedlaugh. "I suppose only God knows the real value of finger bowls andtoothbrushes and silk stockings! I suppose it's 'ahead'!"

　　She opened the Tolands' side gate as she spoke, and they went into thebare garden.

　　"Well—but don't go in," pleaded Jim, "there'll be a mob about us in notime, and I've never had you to myself before! When may I come see yourpeople?"

　　"Will you write?" Julia asked at the side door.

　　"Oh, but darling, when we've just begun to talk!" fretted Jim. "Wouldyou dare to kiss me right here—no one could possibly see us!"

　　"I would not!" And Julia flashed him one laughing look as she opened thedoor. A moment later he heard her running up the stairway.

　　Julia found Miss Toland upstairs, hastily packing. "Well, runaway!" saidthe older lady. And then, in explanation, "I think we'd best go, Julia,for my brother and Teddy have just got home, and there'll have to be agreat family council to-night."

　　"Would you stay if I went?" Julia asked, coming close to her.

　　"No, you muggins! I'd pack you off in a moment if that was what I meant!No, I'm glad enough to get out of it!" Miss Toland stood up. "What's JimStuddiford been saying to you to give you cheeks like that?" she asked.

　　"I don't know," Julia whispered, with a tremulous laugh. And for thefirst time she went into Miss Toland's open arms, and hid her face, andfor the first time they kissed each other.

　　"Anything settled?" the older woman presently asked in greatsatisfaction.

　　"Not—quite!" Julia said.

　　"Not quite! Well, that's right; there's no need of hurry. Oh, law me!I've seen this coming," Miss Toland assured her; "he all but told mehimself a week ago! Well, well, well! And it only goes to show, Julia,"she added, shaking a skirt before she rolled it into a ball and laid itin her suitcase, "that if you give a girl an occupation, she's betteroff, she's more useful, and it doesn't keep her fate from finding herout! You laugh, because you've heard me say this before, but it's true!"

　　Julia had laughed indeed; her heart was singing. She would have laughedat anything to-day.

　　Four days later, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Doctor Studdifordcalled at The Alexander, and Miss Page joined him, in street attire, atonce. They walked away to the car together, in a street suddenly floodedwith golden sunshine.

　　"Did you tell your mother I was coming, dear?"

　　"Oh, Jim, of course! I never would dare take them unawares!"

　　"And did you tell her that you were going to be my adored and beautifullittle wife in a few months?"

　　"In a few months—hear the man! In a few years! No, but I gave them tounderstand that you were my 'friend.' I didn't mention that you are amulti-millionaire and a genius on leg bones—"

　　"Julia, my poor girl, if you think you are marrying a multi-millionaire,disabuse your mind, dear child! Aren't women mercenary, though! Here Ithought I—No, but seriously, darling, why shouldn't your mother havethe satisfaction of knowing that your future is pretty safe?"

　　"Well, that's hard to say, Jim. But I think you will like her better ifshe takes it for granted that you are just—well, say just the sort ofdoctor we might have called in to the settlement house, establishing apractice, but quite able to marry. I feel," said Julia, finding herwords with a little difficulty, "that my mother might hurt myfeelings—by doubting my motives, otherwise—and if she hurt myfeelings she would anger you, wouldn't she?"

　　"She certainly would!" Jim smiled, but the look he gave his pluckylittle companion was far removed from mirth.

　　"And I do dread this call," Julia said nervously. "I came down hereyesterday, just to say we were coming, and it all struck me asbeing—However, there's the house, and you'll soon see for yourself!"

　　The house itself was something of a shock to Jim, but if Julia guessedit, he gave her no evidence of his feeling, and was presently taken intothe stifling parlour, and introduced to Julia's mother, a little graynow, but hard lipped and bright eyed as ever, and to Mrs. Cox, who hadbeen widowed for some years, and was a genial, toothless, talkative oldwoman, much increased in her own esteem and her children's as the actualowner of the old house.

　　"Mother, we want some air in here!" Julia said, going to a window.

　　"Julia's a great girl for fresh air," said Emeline. "Sit down, Doctor,and don't mind Ma!" Mrs. Cox, perhaps slightly self-conscious, waswandering about the room picking threads from the carpet, straighteningthe pictures on the walls, and dubiously poking a small stopped clock onthe mantel.

　　"How's your arm to-day?" Julia asked, stopping behind her mother'schair, and laying two firm young hands on her shoulders.

　　"What do you think of a girl that runs off and doesn't see her motherfor weeks at a time, Doctor?" Mrs. Page demanded a little tartly. "Herpapa and I was devoted to her, too! But I suppose if she marries, she'llbe too grand for us altogether!"

　　"Now, Mother!" said Julia pleadingly, half vexed, half indulgent.

　　"I had an elegant little place myself when I was first married," Mrs.Page continued, in a sort of discontented sing-song. "Julia must havetold you about her papa—"

　　Julia's serious eyes flashed a look to Jim, and he saw something almostlike humour in their blue deeps.

　　"That's a crayon enlargement of my youngest son," the old woman waspresently saying, "Chess. A better boy never lived, but he got in withbad companions and they got him in jail. Yes, indeed they did! On'y thegovernor let him out again—"

　　The call was not long. Doctor Studdiford shook hands with both theladies, in departing, and Julia kissed her mother and grandmotherdutifully. The two walked almost in silence to the car.

　　"Downtown?" asked Julia, in surprise.

　　"Downtown, for tea," Jim said. And when they were comfortablyestablished in a secluded corner of the Golden Pheasant, he expelled along breath from his lungs, and sent Julia his sunniest smile as hesaid:

　　"Well, you're a wonder!"

　　"I?" Julia touched her heart with her fingers, and raised her eyebrows.

　　"Oh, yes, you are!" Jim repeated. "You're a little wonder! To makeyourself so sweet and fine and dear, it shows that you're one of the bigpeople of the world, Julie! Some one of the writers, Emerson I guess itwas, says that when you find a young person who is willing to accept thewisdom of older people, and abide by it, why, you may watch that youngperson for great things. And you see, I propose to!"

　　Julia had no answering smile ready. Instead her face was very grave asshe said musingly:

　　"I hardly know why I wanted you to meet my mother and grandmother, Jim.I don't know quite what I expected when you did meet them, but—but youmustn't make light of the fact that they are different from your people,and different from me, too. For three or four days and nights now I'vebeen thinking about—us. I've been wondering whether this engagementwould be a—a happy thing for you, Jim. I've wondered—"

　　"But, sweetheart!" he interrupted eagerly, "I love you! You're the onlywoman I ever wanted to marry! I love you just because you are different,you are so much wiser and deeper and truer than any other girl I everknew, and if your people and your life have made you that, why I lovethem, too! And you do love me, Julie?"

　　Julia raised heavy eyes, and he could see that tears were pressing closebehind them. She did not speak, but her look suddenly enveloped him likea cloud. Jim felt a sudden prick of tears behind his own eyes.

　　"Sweetness," he said gravely, "I know you love me! And Julia, my wholesoul is simply on fire for you. Don't—don't let any mere trifle comebetween us now. Let me tell my mother and father to-morrow!"

　　A clear light was shining in Julia's eyes. Now, as she automaticallyarranged the tea things before her, and poured him his first cup of tea,she said:

　　"Jim, I told you that I haven't thought much about marriage for myself.I suppose it's funny that I shouldn't, for they say most girls do! Butperhaps it was because the biographies and histories I began to readwhen I came to the settlement house were all about men: how Lincolnrose, how Napoleon rose, how this rich man sold newspapers when he was alittle boy, and that other one spent his first money in taking hismother out of the poorhouse. And of course marriage doesn't enter somuch into the lives of men. It came to me years ago that what wise menare trying to din into young people everywhere is just this: that if youmake yourself ready for anything, that thing will come to you. Just doyour end, and somewhere out in the queer, big, incomprehensiblemachinery of the world your place will mysteriously begin to get readyfor you—Am I talking sense, Jim?"

　　"Absolutely. Go on!" said Jim.

　　"Well, and so I thought that if I took years and years I might—well,you won't see why, but I wanted to be a lady!" confessed Julia, her lipssmiling, but with serious eyes. "And, Jim, everything comes so much moreeasily than one thinks. Your aunt knew I wasn't, but I happened to bewhat she needed, and I kept quiet, and listened and learned!"

　　"And suppose you hadn't happened upon the settlement house?" asked Jim,his ardent eyes never moving from her face.

　　"Why, I would have done it somehow, some other way. I meant to take aposition in some family, and perhaps be a trained nurse when I wasolder, or study to be a librarian and take the City Hall examinations,or work up to a post-office position! I had lots of plans, only ofcourse I was only a selfish little girl then, and I thought I woulddisappear, and never let my own people hear from me again!"

　　"But you softened on that point, eh?" asked Jim.

　　"Oh, right away!" Julia's wonderful eyes shone upon him with somethingunearthly in their light. "Because God decides to whom we shall belong,Jim," said she, with childish faith, "and to start wrong with my ownpeople would mean that I was all wrong, everywhere. But my highestambition then was to grow, as the years went on, to be useful to nicepeople, and to be liked by them. I never dreamed every one would be sofriendly! And when Miss Pierce and Miss Scott have asked me to theirhomes, and when Mrs. Forbes took me to Santa Cruz, and Mrs. Chetwyndeasked me to dine with them, well, I can't tell you what it meant!"

　　"It meant that you are as good—and better, in every way—than all therest of them put together!" said the prejudiced Jim.

　　"Oh, Jim!" Julia looked at him over her teacup, a breach of mannerswhich Jim thought very charming. "No," she said, presently, pursuing herown thoughts, "but I never thought of marriage! And now you come along,Jim, so—so good to me, so infinitely dear, and I can't—I can't helpcaring—" And suddenly her lip trembled, and tears filled her eyes. Shelooked down at her teacup, and stirred it blindly.

　　"You angel!" Jim said.

　　"Don't—make—me—cry—!" Julia begged thickly. A second later shelooked up and laughed through tears. "And I feel like a person who hasbeen skipped over four or five grades at school; I don't know whether Ican be a rich man's wife!" she said whimsically. "I know I can go on asI am, reading and thinking, and listening to other people, and keepingquiet when I have nothing to say, but—but when I think of being Mrs.James Studdiford—"

　　"Oh, I love to hear you say it!" Jim leaned across the table, and putone warm big hand over hers. "My darling little wife!"

　　The word dyed Julia's cheeks crimson, and for the long hour that theylingered over their tea she seemed to Jim more charming than he had everfound her before. Her gravity, with its deep hint of suppressed mirth,and her mirth that was always so delicate and demure, so shot withsudden pathos and seriousness, were equally exquisite; and her beautywon all eyes, from the old waiter who hovered over their happiness, tothe little baby in the street car who would sit in Julia's lap andnowhere else. Jim presently left Julia to her Girls' Club, consolinghimself with the thought that on the following night they were to maketheir first trip to the theatre together.

　　But when, at half-past seven the next evening, Jim presented himself atthe settlement house, he found Julia alone, and obviously not dressedfor the theatre. She admitted him with a kiss that to his lover'senthusiasm was strangely cool, and drew him into the reception hall.

　　"Your aunt had to go out with Miss Parker," said Julia. "But she'llpositively be here a little after eight."

　　"My darling, I didn't come to see Aunt Sanna!" Jim caught her to him."But, sweetheart," he said, "how hot your face is, and your poor littlehands are icy! Aren't you well?"

　　"No, I don't believe I'm very well!" Julia admitted restlessly, lightingthe shaded lamp on the centre table, and snapping off the side lightsthat so mercilessly revealed her pale face and burning eyes.

　　"Not well enough for the theatre? Well, but darling, I don't care onesnap for the theatre," Jim assured her eagerly. "Only I hate to see youso nervous and tired. Has it been a hard day? Aunt Sanna—?"

　　"No, your aunt's an angel to me—no, it's been an easy day," Julia said,dropping into a chair, and pushing her hair back from her face with afeverish gesture. A second later she sprang up and disappeared into theassembly hall. "I thought I mightn't have locked the door," she said,returning.

　　"Why, sweetheart," Jim said, in great distress, "what is it? You're notone bit like yourself!"

　　"No, I know I'm not," Julia said wildly. She sat down again. "I've beenthinking and thinking all day, until I feel as if I must go crazy!" shesaid with a desperate gesture. "And it's come to this, Jim—Don't thinkI'm excited—I mean it. I—we can't be married, Jim. That's all.Don't—don't look so amazed. People break engagements all the time,don't they? And we aren't really engaged, Jim; nobody knows it. And—andso it's all right!"

　　Anything less right than Julia's ashen face and blazing eyes, and thetouch of her cold wet little hands, Jim thought he had never seen. Hestepped into the bathroom, and ran his eye along the trim row oflabelled bottles on the shelf.

　　"Here, drink this, dear," he said, coming back to her with somethingclear and pungent in a glass. "Now, come here," and half lifting thelittle figure in his arms he put her on the couch, and tucked a plaidwarmly about her. "Don't forget that your husband is also a doctor,"said Jim, sitting down so that he could see her face, and hold one handin both of his. "You're all worn out and excited, and no wonder! Yousee, most girls take out their excess emotion on their families, but mylittle old girl is too much alone!"

　　Julia's eyes were fixed on him as if she were powerless to draw themaway. It was sweet—it was poignantly sweet—to be cared for by him, tofeel that Jim's warm heart and keen mind were at her service, that theswift smile was for her, the ardour in his eyes was all her own. Forperhaps half an hour she rested, almost without speaking, and Jim talkedto her with studied lightness and carelessness. Then suddenly she satup, and put her hands to her loosened hair.

　　"I must look wild, Jim!"

　　"You look like a ravishing little gipsy! But I wish you had more colour,mouse!"

　　"Am I pale?" Julia asked, with a little nervous laugh. Jim dropped onone knee beside her, and studied her with anxious eyes, and she pushedthe hair off his forehead, and rested her cheek against it with a longsigh as if she were very tired.

　　"What is it, dear?" asked Jim, with infinite solicitude.

　　"Well!" Julia put the faintest shadow of a kiss on his forehead, thengot abruptly to her feet and crossed the room, as if she found hisnearness suddenly insufferable. "I can't break my engagement to you thisway, Jim," said she. "For even if I told you a thousand times that I hadstopped loving you"—a spasm of pain crossed her face, she shut herhands tightly together over her heart—"even then you would know that Ilove you with my whole soul," she said in a whisper with shut eyes. "Butyou see," and Julia turned a pitiful smile upon him, "you see there'ssomething you don't understand, Jim! You say I have climbed up alone,from being a tough little would-be actress, who lived over a saloon inO'Farrell Street, to this! You say—and your aunt says—that I am wise,wise to see what is worth having, and to work for it! But has it neveroccurred to one of you—" Julia's voice, which had been rising steadily,sank to a cold, low tone. "No," she said, as if to herself, sitting downat the table, and resting her arms upon it. "No, it has never occurredto one of them to ask why I am different—to ask just what made me so!Life boils itself down to this, doesn't it?" she went on, staringdrearily at the shadowy corner of the room beyond her. "That women havesomething to sell, or give away, and the question is just how much eachone can get for it! That's what makes the most insignificant marriedwoman feel superior to the happiest and richest old maid. She says toherself, 'I've made my market. Somebody chose me!' That's whatmotherhood and homemaking rest on: the whole world is just one great bigquestion of sex, spinning away in space! And even after a woman ismarried, she still plays with sex; she likes to feel that men admireher, doesn't she? At dinners there must be a man for every woman; atdances no two girls must dance together! And here, the minute a new girlcomes to join my clubs, I try to read her face. Is she pure, or has shealready thrown away—"

　　"Julia, dear!" said Jim, amazed and troubled, but she silenced him witha quick gesture. Her cheeks were burning now, and her words came fast.

　　"Those poor little girls at St. Anne's," she said feverishly, "they'vethrown their lives away because this thing that is in the air all aboutthem came too close. They were too young legally to be trusted as Naturehas trusted them for years! They heard people talk of it, and laughabout it—it didn't seem very dangerous—"

　　"Julia!" Jim said again, pleadingly.

　　"Just one moment, Jim, and I'll be done! When they had learned theirlesson, when they had found out what sorrow it brought, when they knewthat there was only loss and shame in it for them—then it was too late!Then men, and women, too, expected them to go on giving; there wasnothing else to do. Oh," said Julia, in a heartbreaking voice, bringingher locked hands down upon the table as if she were in physical agony,"if the law would only take a hand before and not afterward! Or if, whenthey are sick to death of men, they could believe that time would washit all away; that there was clean, good work for them somewhere in theworld!"

　　"My darling, why distress yourself about what can't possibly concernyou?" Jim said. Julia stared at him thoughtfully for a few silentseconds.

　　"It does concern me. That's how I bought my wisdom," she said quietlythen, with no emotion deeper than a mild regret visible in her face.Voice and manner were swept bare of passion; she seemed infinitelyfatigued. "That's why I can't marry you, Jim."

　　"What do you mean?" Jim said easily, uncomprehendingly, the indulgentsmile hardly stricken from his lips.

　　Julia's eyes met his squarely across the lamplight.

　　"That," she said simply.

　　There was a silence, and no change of expression on either face. ThenJim stood up.

　　"I don't believe it!" he said, with a short laugh.

　　"It's true," said Julia. "I was not fifteen. How long ago it was! Nobodyhas ever known—you need not have known. But I am glad I told you. Ihave been thinking of nothing else but telling you for two days and twonights. And sometimes I would say to myself that what that old littleignorant Julia did would not concern you—"

　　Jim made an inarticulate sound, from where he sat with his elbows on hisknees, with his face dropped in his hands.

　　"But I see it does concern you!" Julia said, quickly, with greatsimplicity. "I—luckily I decided to tell you this morning," she said,"for I am absolutely exhausted now. It was a terrible thing to keepthinking about, and I could not have fought it out any longer! Therewere extenuating circumstances, I suppose. I was a spoiled littleempty-headed girl; the girls all about me were reckless in everyway; Idid not know the boundary-line, or dream that it mattered very much, solong as no one knew! My mother had been unhappy in my childhood, andused to talk a good deal about the disappointment of marriage. Perhaps Idon't make myself clear?"

　　"You! Julia!" Jim whispered, his hands still over his face.

　　"Yes, I know," Julia said drearily. "I don't seem like that sort of agirl, I know."

　　Then there was a long silence.

　　"You—poor—little—kid!" Jim said, after a while, getting up andbeginning to walk the floor. "Oh, my God! My God! Poor little kid!"

　　"I suppose there are psychological moments when one wakes up to things,"Julia went on, in a tone curiously impersonal. "I was in sometheatricals with your sister, years ago. Every one snubbed me, and nowonder! There was a man named Carter Hazzard—and I suddenly seemed towake up at about that time—"

　　"Carter Hazzard!" The horror in Jim's voice rang through the room. Juliafrowned.

　　"I only saw him two or three times," she said. "No. But he flirted withme, and flattered me, and then Barbara told me he was married, and thenI found out that they all thought I was vulgar and common—and so I was.And I suppose I wanted to be loved and made much of, and he—thisman—was good to me!"

　　"Not you—of all women!" Jim said dully, as if to himself.

　　"I know how you feel," Julia said without emotion, "because of course Ifeel that way, too—now! And I never loved him, never even thought Idid! It was only a little while—two weeks or three, I guess—before Itold him I couldn't ever love him. I said I thought I might, but it waslike—like realizing that I had been throwing away gold pieces fordimes. Do you know what I mean? And the most awful disgust came over me,Jim—a sort of disappointment, that this talked-of and anticipated thingwas no more than that! And then I came here, and I knew that keepingstill about it was my only chance, and oh, how sick I was, soul andbody, for a fresh start! And then your aunt talked to me, and said whata pity it is that young girls think of nothing but love and lovers, andso throw away their best years, and I thought that I was done with love;no more curiosity—no more thrill—and that I would do something with mylife after all!"

　　Her voice dropped, and again there was silence in the room. Jimcontinued to pace the floor.

　　"Why, there's never been a morning at St. Anne's that I haven't lookedat those girls," Julia presently resumed, "and said to myself that Imight have been there, with my head shaved and a green check dress on!Lots of them must be better than I!"

　　"Don't!" Jim said sharply, and there was a silence until Julia saidwonderingly:

　　"Isn't it funny that all last night, and the night before, I thought Iwas going to die, telling you this—and now it just doesn't seem tomatter at all?"

　　"That's why you've never married?" Jim said, clearing his throat.

　　"I've never wanted to until now," Julia said. "And I—I am so changednow that somehow I would never think of that—that bad old time, inconnection with marriage! It was as if that part of my life was sealedbeyond opening again—

　　"And then you came. I only wanted no one to guess that I cared at first.And then, when I saw that you were beginning to care, too, oh, my God! Ithought my heart would burst!"

　　And with sudden terrible passion in her voice, she got up in her turnand began to pace the room. Jim, who had flung himself into a chairopposite hers, rested his elbows on the table, and his face in hishands.

　　"But I feel this about your caring for me, Jim," Julia said. "In astrange, mysterious way I feel that giving you up—giving you up, mybest and dearest, is purification! When—when this is over, I shall havepaid! It may be"—tears flooded her eyes, and she came back to her chairand laid her head on her arm—"it may be that I can't bear it, and thatI will die!" sobbed Julia. "But I shall always be glad that I told youthis to-night!" There was a long silence, and then again Jim came tokneel beside her, and put one arm about her.

　　"My own little girl!" said he. At his voice Julia raised her head, andput her arms about his neck like a weary child, and rested her wet faceagainst his own.

　　"My own brave girl!" Jim said. "I know what courage it took to have youtell me this! It will never be known to any one else, sweetheart, and wewill bury it in our hearts forever. Kiss me, dearest, and promise methat my little wife will stop crying!"

　　For a moment it was as if she tried to push him away.

　　"Jim," she whispered, tears running down her face, "have youthought—are you sure?"

　　"Quite sure, sweetheart," he said soothingly and tenderly. "Why, Julie,wouldn't you forgive me anything I might have done when I was only anignorant little boy?"

　　Julia tightened her arms about him, and sobbed desperately for a longwhile. Then her breathing quieted, and she let Jim dry her eyes with hisown handkerchief, and listened, with an occasional long sigh, to hiseager, confident plans. They were still talking quietly when the streetdoor was flung open and Miss Toland came in, on a rush of fresh air.

　　"Rain!" said Miss Toland. "Terrible night! Not an umbrella in the Parkerhouse until Clem came home—it's quarter to ten!"

　　"Congratulate us, Aunt Sanna," said Jim, rising to his feet with his armstill about Julia. "Julia has promised to marry me!"

　　End of Part One