PART TWO - CHAPTER IV

by Kathleen Norris

　　The Studdifords, with some four hundred other San Francisco societyfolk, regarded the Browning dances as quite the most important of thewinter's social affairs, and Julia, who thoroughly liked the host andthe brilliant assembly, really enjoyed them more than the smaller andmore select affairs. The Brownings were a beloved and reveredinstitution; very few new faces appeared there from year to year, exceptthe very choice of the annual crop of debutantes. Little Mrs. Studdifordhad made a sensation when she first came, at her handsome husband'sside, a year ago, her dazzling prettiness set off by the simplest ofmilk-white Paris gowns, her wonderful crown of hair wound about withpearls. Now she was a real favourite, and at the January ball, in hersecond winter in society, a score of admirers assured her that her gownwas the prettiest in the room.

　　"That pleases you, doesn't it, Jim?" she smiled, as he put her into ared velvet armchair, at the end of the long ballroom, and dropped into achair beside her.

　　"Well, it's true," Jim assured her, "and, what's more, you're the mostbeautiful woman in the room, too!"

　　"Oh, Jeemy! What a story! But go get your dances, dear, if we're notgoing to stay for supper. Here's Mrs. Thayer to amuse me," said Julia,as a magnificent old woman came toward her with a smile.

　　"Not dancing, dear?" said the dowager, as she sank heavily into the seatJim left. "Whyn't you dancing with the other girls? I"—she panted andfanned, idly scanning the room—"I tell Brownie I don't know how he getsthe men!" she added, "lots of 'em; supper brings 'em, probably! Whyn'tyou dancing, dear?"

　　"She's implying that her ankle was sprained," Jim grinned, departing.Julia dimpled. The dowager brought an approving eye to bear upon her.

　　"Well—well, you don't say so? Now that's very nice indeed," she saidcomfortably; "well, I declare! I hadn't heard a word of it—and you'reglad, of course?"

　　"Oh, very glad!" Julia assured her, colouring.

　　"That's nice, too!" Mrs. Thayer rumbled on, her eyes beginning again torove the room. "Fuss, of course, and lots of trouble, but you forget allthat! Yes, I love children myself, used to be the most devoted motheralive, puttin' 'em to bed, and all that, yes, indeed!"

　　"You had two?" Julia hazarded. The dowager gave her a surprised glance.

　　"I, me dear? I had five—Rose there, that's Mrs. St. John, and Kate, youknow her? Mrs. Willis, and my boy that's in Canada now, and the boy Ilost, and Lillian—Lily we called her, she was only three. Diphtheria."

　　"Oh!" Julia said, shocked.

　　"Yes, indeed, I thought it would break Colonel Thayer's heart," pursuedMrs. Thayer, fanning regally, and watching the room. "She was thefirst—Lily would be nearly forty now! Look, Julia, who is that withIsabel Wallace? Who? Oh, yes, Mary Chauncey. See if you can see herhusband anywhere. I'd give a good deal to know if she came with him!"

　　"Mrs. Thayer," said Julia presently, "how long have you been coming tothe Brownings?"

　　"I? Oh, since they were started, child. There was a little group of usthat used to dance round at each other's houses, then some of the mengot together and formed a little club—Brownie was one of them. TheSaunders used to come. Ella was about eighteen, and Sally and AnnaToland, and the Harts, and the Kirkwoods. Who's that with young Brice,Julia, me dear? Peter Coleman, is it?"

　　"Talking to Mr. Carter, yes, that's Mr. Coleman. He's a beautifuldancer," said Julia.

　　"Peter is? Yes, well, then, why don't you—But you're not dancing, ofcourse," Mrs. Thayer said. "There's Gordon Jones and his wife! WhyBrownie ever let them in I don't—Ah, Ella, how are you, dear?"

　　"Fine, thank you!" said the newcomer, a magnificent woman of perhapsforty, in a very beautiful gown. "How do you do, Mrs. Studdiford?" sheadded cordially, as she sat down. "Dancing, surely?"

　　"Now she's got the best reason in the world for not dancing," said oldMrs. Thayer, with a protective motion of her fan.

　　"Oh—so?" Miss Saunders said, after a quick look of interrogation."Well, that's—dutiful, isn't it?" She raised her eyebrows, made alittle grimace, and laughed.

　　"Now, Ella, don't ye say anything wicked!" Mrs. Thayer warned her, andthe fan was used to tap Miss Saunders sharply on her smooth, big arm.

　　"Wicked!" Miss Saunders said negligently, watching the dancers, "I thinkit's fine. I always said I'd have ten. Is Jim pleased?"

　　"He's perfectly delighted—yes," Julia assented, suddenly feeling thatthis careless talk, in this bright, hot room, was not fair to the littleone she already loved so dearly.

　　"Is that Mrs. Brock or Vera?" Mrs. Thayer asked. "I declare they lookalike!"

　　"That's Alice," Ella answered, after a glance, "don't you know that bluesilk? They've got the Hazzards with them."

　　"Gets worse every year, absolutely," the old lady declared, "doesn't it,Ella? Emily here?"

　　"No, she's wretched, poor kid. But Ken's here somewhere. There are theGeralds," Miss Saunders added, leaning toward the old woman and sinkingher tone to a low murmur. "Have you heard about Mason Gerald and PaulaBillings—oh, haven't you? Not about the car breaking down—haven't you?Well, my dear—"

　　Julia lost the story, and sat watching the room, a vague little smilecurving her lips, her blue eyes moving idly to and fro. She saw Mrs.Toland come in with her two lovely daughters. Julia had had tea withthem that afternoon at the hotel, where they would spend the night. Theorchestra was silent just now, and the dancers were drifting about theroom, a great brilliant circle. Some of the men were clapping theirhands, all of them were laughing as they bent their sleek heads towardtheir partners, and all the girls were laughing, too, and talkinganimatedly as they raised wide-open eyes. Julia admired the gowns:shining pink and cloudy pink, blue with lace and blue with spangles,white alone, and white with every colour in the world; a yellow andblack gown that was indescribably dashing, and a yellow and black gownthat somehow looked very flat and dowdy. She noticed the Ripley pearlson Miss Dolly Ripley's scrawny little lean neck, and that charmingIsabel Wallace danced a good deal with her own handsome, shy youngbrothers, and seemed eager that they should enjoy what was evidentlytheir first Browning. She studied the old faces, the hard faces, thefaded faces, the painted cheeks and powdered necks; she read the tragedybehind the drooping head of some debutante, the triumph in the highlaugh of another. There was poor Connie Fox, desperately eager andamiable, dancing with the youngest men and the oldest men, glitteringand jolly in her dingy blue silk; and Connie's mother, who was herchaperon, a little fluttering fool of a woman, nervously eager toingratiate, and nervously afraid to intrude her company upon thesedemi-gods and goddesses; and Theodora Carleton, handsome in too low cuta gown, laughing with Alan Gregory, and aware, as every one in the roomwas aware, that her husband's first wife was also at the dance. The roomgrew warm, the air heavy with delicate perfumes. Men were mopping theirfaces; some of the debutantes looked like wilting roses; the faces ofsome of the older women were shining. It was midnight, the latest comershad arrived, the floor was well filled.

　　"I wonder if I will be doing this twenty years from now," thought Julia."I wonder if my daughter will come to the Brownings, then?"

　　"... which I call disgraceful, don't you, Mrs. Studdiford?" asked MissSaunders suddenly.

　　"I beg your pardon!" Julia said, startled into attention, "I didn't hearyou!"

　　"I know you didn't," the other said, laughing, "nevertheless, it was alow trick," she added to Mrs. Thayer, "and Leila Orvis can wait a longtime before she makes the peace with me! Charity's all very well, butwhen it comes to palming off girls like that upon your friends, it'sjust a little too much!"

　　"How's it happen ye didn't ask the girl for any references, me dear?"asked Mrs. Thayer.

　　"Because Leila told me she knew all about her!" snapped Miss Saunders.

　　"What was she, a waitress?" Julia asked, amused.

　　"No, she was nothing!" Miss Saunders said in high scorn; "she'd had notraining whatever—not that I mind that. She was simply supposed to helpwith the pantry work and make herself generally useful. Well, one dayCarrie, a maid Mother's had for years, told Mother that something thisAda had said she fancied Ada had been in some sort of reformschool—imagine! Of course poor Mother collapsed, and Emily telephonedfor me—the kid always rises to an emergency, I will say that. So Irushed home, and got the whole story out of Ada in five minutes. Atfirst she cried a good deal, and pretended it was an orphans' home;orphans' home—ha! Finally I scared her into admitting that it was aplace just for girls of her sort—"

　　"Fancy!" said Mrs. Thayer, fanning. Julia had grown a little pale.

　　"What did you do, Miss Saunders?" said she.

　　"Do? I sent her packing, of course!" said that lady, smiling as shebowed to an acquaintance across the room. "I told her to go straightback to Mrs. Orvis, and say I sent her. However, she didn't, for Itelephoned Leila at once—Lucy Bacon is trying to bow to you, Mrs.Studdiford—over there, with your husband!"

　　"I wonder where she did go?" pursued Julia.

　　"I really have no idea!" Miss Saunders said.

　　"You may be sure she knew just where to go, a creature like that!" oldMrs. Thayer said wisely. "How de do, Peter, Auntie here?" she called toa smiling man who went by.

　　"Oh, she wouldn't go utterly bad," Julia protested; "you can't tell, shemay have been decent for years. It may have been years ago—"

　　"Still, me dear," old Mrs. Thayer said comfortably, "one doesn't likethe idea—one can't overlook that, ye know."

　　"Of course, it's too bad," Miss Saunders added briskly, "and it's agreat pity, and things ought to be different from what they are, and allthat; but at the same time you couldn't have a girl like that in thehouse, now could you?"

　　"Oh, yes, I could!" said Julia, scarlet cheeked, "I was just thinkinghow glad I would be to give her a trial!"

　　She stopped because Jim, very handsome in evening dress and with hispretty partner beside him, had come up to them.

　　"Tired, dear?" Jim said, smiling approval of the little figure in whitelace, and the earnest eyes under loosened bright hair.

　　"Just about time you came up, Jim!" Ella Saunders said cheerfully,"here's your wife championing the cause of unfortunate girls—shewouldn't care what they'd done, she'd take them right into her home!"

　　"And very sweet and nice of her," Mrs. Thayer observed, with aconsolatory pat on Julia's arm, "only it isn't quite practical, me dear,is it, Jim?"

　　"Julia'd like to take in every cat and dog and beggar and newsboy shesees," said Jim, with his bright smile. But Julia knew he was notpleased. "Do you want to come speak to Mother and the girls, dear,before I take you home?" he added, offering his arm. Julia stood up andsaid her good-nights, and crossed the room, a slender and mostcaptivating little figure, at his side. It was not until she was bundledinto furs and in the motor car that she could say, with an appealinghand on his arm:

　　"Don't blame me, Jimmy. I didn't start that topic. Miss Saundershappened to tell of a poor girl who—"

　　"I don't care to discuss it," Jim said, removing her hand by thefaintest gesture of withdrawing.

　　Julia sighed and was silent. The limousine ran smoothly past one lightedcorner after another; turned into Van Ness Avenue. After a while shesaid, a little indignation burning through her quiet tone:

　　"I've said I was not responsible for the conversation, Jim. And it seemsto me merely childish in you to let a casual remark affect you in thisway!"

　　"All right, then, I'm childish!" Jim said grimly, folding his arms as heleaned back in his seat.

　　Julia sighed again. Presently Jim burst out:

　　"I'm affected by a casual remark, yes, I admit it. But my God, doesn'tit mean anything to you that I have my pride, that when I think of mywife I want to feel that she is more perfect in every way—in everyway—than all the other women in the world?" He stopped, breathing hard,and resumed, a little less violently: "All I ask is, Julia, that you letsuch subjects alone. You're not called upon to defend such girls! Surelythat's not too much to ask!"

　　Julia did not answer; she sat silent and sick. And as Jim did not speakagain, except to mutter "My God!" once or twice, they reached the housein silence, and separated with a brief "Good-night." Ellie was waitingfor Julia, eager to hear what Miss Jane wore, and Miss Constance wore,and how "Miss Teddy" looked.

　　"I am absolutely done, Ellie," said the mistress, when the filmy lacegown was back in its box, and she was comfortably settled on herpillows, "so don't come in until I ring."

　　"And I hope you'll get a long sleep," Ellie said approvingly, "you'vegot to take care of yourself now!"

　　Julia's little daughter was born on a June day in the lovely Ross Valleyhouse the Studdifords had taken for the summer.

　　They had moved into the house in April, because Julia's hopes made alater move unwise, and, delighted to get into the sweet green country soearly in the year, and to have the best of excuses for leading the quietlife she loved, she bloomed like a rose. She was in splendid health andin continual good spirits; her exultant confidence indeed lasted untilthe very day of the baby's birth.

　　The day was late, and the pretty nurse, Miss Wheaton, had been in thehouse for nearly two weeks before Julia herself came to her door, in thefirst pearl dawning to say, still laughingly, that the hour had come. Aswift, well—ordered period of excitement ensued; the maids were silent,awed, efficient; Miss Wheaton authoritative, crisp, ready with technicalterms; and Jim as nervous and upset as if he were absolutely ignorant ofall things physiological, utterly dependent upon the skill and knowledgeof the nurse, humbly obedient to her will. The telephone rang and rang.Julia, the centre of this whole thrilling drama, wandered about in hergreat plum-coloured silk dressing-gown, commenting cheerfully enoughupon the various rapid changes that were being made in her room. Shepicked up the little pink blanket that had been hung upon awhite-enamelled clothes-horse, by the fire, and pressed it to her cheek.But now and then she stopped walking, and put her hand out toward theback of a chair as if she needed support, and then an expression crossedher face that made Jim's soul sicken within him: an expression of fearand wonderment and childish surprise. At nine o'clock Miss Toland camein, a little pale, but very cheerful and reassuring.

　　"I'm afraid—my nerve—will give out, Aunt Sanna!" Julia said, beginningher restless march again, after a hot quick kiss.

　　"Hear her!" said the nurse, with a laugh of bright scorn. "Don't talkany nonsense like that, Mrs. Studdiford. Why, she's the coolest of usall!"

　　"Oh, no—I'm not—oh, no—I'm not!" Julia moaned.

　　"Your doctor says you're doing splendidly, and that another two hoursought to see everything well over!" Miss Toland said, trying to keep theacute distress she felt out of her tone.

　　"I feel so—nauseated!" Julia complained. "So—uncertain!"

　　"Yes, I know," the nurse said soothingly, whisking out of the room. MissToland followed her into the hall.

　　"She's in great pain, she won't have much of this?" asked the olderwoman anxiously.

　　"She's not suffering much," the nurse said brightly, after a cautiousglance at Julia's closed door. "This isn't much—yet. She's a littlescared, that's all!"

　　Hating the nurse from the depth of her heart, Miss Toland wentdownstairs to see the doctor. Jim was sitting with a newspaper on theporch, trying to smoke. He jumped up nervously.

　　"Where's Doctor Lippincott?" demanded Miss Toland. "He ran in to SanRafael. Back directly."

　　"Ran in to San Rafael? And you let him! Why, I don't see how he dared,Jim!"

　　"Oh, I guess he knows his business, Aunt Sanna!" Jim said miserably. "Doyou suppose I can go up for a while?"

　　"Yes, go," said Miss Toland. "I think she wants you, God bless her!"

　　But Julia wanted nobody and nothing. Jim's presence, his concerned voiceand sympathetic eyes, only vaguely added to her distress. She wasfrightened now, terrified at the recurring paroxysms of pain; sherecoiled from the breezy matter-of-factness of the doctor and the nurse;the elaborate preparations for the crisis offended every delicateinstinct of her nature. She felt that the room was hot, and complainedof the fire; but a few moments later her teeth chattered with a chill,and Miss Wheaton closed the wide windows through which a June breeze waswandering.

　　The day dragged on. The doctor came back, talked to Jim and Miss Tolandduring luncheon about mushroom-raising, went upstairs to send MissWheaton down to her lunch, and to watch the patient a little while forhimself. Jim went up, too, but was sent down to reassure Mrs. Toland,who had arrived, and with Miss Sanna was holding a vigil in the prettycretonne-hung drawing-room. He was crossing the hall to go upstairsagain, when a sound from above held him rigid and cold. A long low moanof utter weariness and anguish drifted through the pleasant silence ofthe house, died away, and rose again.

　　Slowly the sense of tragedy deepened about them. Mrs. Toland was white;Miss Toland's face was streaked with tears. The moaning was almostincessant now, but Jim in the hall could hear the nurse murmur above it,and now and then the doctor's voice, short and sharp.

　　"I wonder if you could come in and give her a little chloroform, Jim?"said Doctor Lippincott, a pleasant, middle-aged man in a white linensuit and cap, appearing suddenly in the door of Julia's room. "I thinkwe can ease her along a little now, and I need Miss Wheaton."

　　Jim pushed his hair back with a wet hand; cleared his throat.

　　"Sure. D'you want me to scrub up?" he asked huskily.

　　"Oh, no—no, my dear boy! Everything's going splendidly." The doctorbeckoned him in, and shut the door. "Now, Mrs. Studdiford," said he,"we'll be all right here in no time!"

　　Julia did not answer; she did not open her eyes even when Jim took hermoist hot hand in one of his, and brushed back the lovely tumbled hairfrom her wet forehead. She was breathing deep and violently, as if shehad been running. Presently she beat upon the bed with one clenchedfist, and began to toss her head from side to side. Then the stifledmoan began to escape from her bitten lips again, her face workedpitifully, and she began to cry.

　　"Now, crowd it on, Jim!" Doctor Lippincott said, nodding toward thechloroform.

　　"Breathe deep, breathe it in, my darling!" Jim urged, pouring the sweet,choking stuff upon the little mask he held above the tortured face.

　　"You aren't—helping me—at all!" Julia muttered, in a deep hoarsevoice. But her shrill thin cry sank to a moan again; she stammeredincoherent words.

　　So struggling and sobbing, now quieter under the anaesthetic, now cryingaloud, the next long hour somehow passed for the helpless, sufferinglittle animal that was Julia. A climax came, and the kindly chloroformsmothered the last terrible cry.

　　Julia awoke to a realization that something was snapping brightly, likewood on a fire; that the cottony fumes in her head were breaking,drifting away; that commonplace cheerful voices were saying things verynear her. She seemed to have fallen from infinite space to thiswretchedly uncomfortable bed and this wretchedly uncomfortable position.She wanted a pillow; her head was rocking with pain, and her foreheadwas sticky with moisture. Yet under and over all other sensations wasthe heavenly relief from the familiar agonies of the day. She felt sotired that the mere thought of beginning to rest distressed her; shewould not open her eyes; her lids seemed sealed. She felt faintlyworried because she could not seem to intelligently grasp the subject ofHonolulu.

　　"Honolulu? Honolulu?" This was the doctor's pleasant drawl. "No. Ihaven't. Mrs. Lippincott's people live in New York, so our junketingsare usually in that direction."

　　"Ah, well, you'd like Honolulu," Miss Wheaton's voice answered. A pause.Then she said, "I put some wood on. It's not so warm to-day as it wasyesterday."

　　Julia strove in vain to pierce the meaning of these cryptic words.Presently the doctor said, "Perfectly normal?" more as a statement thana question, and Miss Wheaton answered in a matter-of-fact voice, "Oh,absolutely."

　　Julia opened her eyes, looked up into the nurse's face, and withreturning consciousness came self-pity.

　　"I couldn't do it, Miss Wheaton," she whispered pitifully, withtrembling lips.

　　"Hello, little girlie, you're beginning to feel better, aren't you?"Miss Wheaton said. "Here she is, Doctor, as fine as silk."

　　Julia's languid eyes found the doctor's kindly face.

　　"But the baby?" she faltered, with a rush of tears.

　　"The baby is a very noisy young woman," said Doctor Lippincottcheerfully. "I wrapped her in her pink thingamagig, and she's right herein Jim's room, getting her first bath from her granny."

　　"Really?" Julia whispered. "You wouldn't—fool me?"

　　"Listen to her!" Miss Wheaton said. "Now, my dear, don't you be nervous.You've got a perfectly lovely little girl, and you've come throughsplendidly, and everything's fine. If you want to go look at that baby,Doctor," she added, "ask Doctor Studdiford to send Ellie in here to meand we'll straighten this all out. Then we can let him in here to seethis young lady!"

　　Presently Jim came in, to kneel beside Julia's bed, and gather herlittle limp hands to his lips, and murmur incoherent praise of his bravegirl, his darling little mother, his little old sweetheart, dearer thana thousand babies. Julia heard him dreamily, raised languid eyes, andafter a little while stroked his hair. She was spent, exhausted,hammered by the agony of a few short hours into this pale ghost ofherself, and he was strong and well, the red blood running confident andaudacious in his veins. Their spirits could not meet to-night. But sheloved his praise, loved to feel his cheek wet against her hand, and shebegan to be glad it was all over, that peace at last had found the bigpleasant room, where firelight and the last soft brightness of the Juneday mingled so pleasantly on rosy wall paper and rosy curtains.

　　"She's a little darling," said Jim. "Mother says she's the prettiesttiny baby she ever saw. Poor Aunt Sanna and Mother had a great old crytogether!"

　　"Ah!" said Julia hungrily. For Miss Toland had come stepping carefullyin, the precious pink blanket in her arms.

　　"I'm to bring her to say 'Good-night' to her mother!" said Miss Toland."How are you, dear? All forgotten now?"

　　The pink miracle was laid beside Julia; she shifted her sore body just atrifle to make room, and spread weak fingers to raise the blanket fromthe baby's face. A little crumpled rose leaf of a face, a shock of softblack hair, and two tiny hands that curved warmly against Julia'sinvestigating finger. All the rest was delicate lawn and soft wool.

　　The baby wrinkled her little countenance, her tiny mouth opened, andJulia heard for the first time her daughter's rasping, despairing,bitter little cry. A passion of ecstasy flooded her heart; she droppedher soft pale cheek close to the little creased one.

　　"Oh, my darling, my darling!" she breathed. "Oh, you little perfect,helpless, innocent thing! Oh, Jim, she's crying, the angel! Oh, I dothank God for her!" she ended softly.

　　"I thank God you're so well," said Miss Toland. "Here, you can't keepher!"

　　"Anna, go with Aunt Sanna," Julia said weakly.

　　"Anna, eh?" Miss Toland said, wrapping up the pink blanket.

　　"Anna Toland Studdiford," Jim answered. "Julia had that all fixed upweeks ago!"

　　"Well—now—you children!" Miss Toland said, looking from one to theother, with her half-vexed and half-approving laugh. "What do you wantto name her that for?"

　　"I know what for," Julia smiled, as she watched the pink blanket outof sight.

　　A little later Mrs. Toland crept in, just for a kiss, and a whimpered,"And now you must forget all the pain, dear, and just be happy!"

　　Then Julia was left to her own thoughts.

　　She watched Miss Wheaton come and go in the soft twilight. A shadedlight bloomed suddenly, where it would not distress her eyes. Thecurtains were drawn, and Ellie came softly in with a pitcher of hot milkon a tray. Now and then the baby's piercing little "Oo-wah-wah!" came infrom the next room, and when she heard it, Julia smiled and saidfaintly, "The darling!"

　　And as a ship that has been blown seaward, to meet the gales and to bebattered upon rocks, might be caught at last by friendlier tides andcarried safely home, so Julia felt herself carried, a helpless littlewreck, too tired to care if the waves flung her far up on shore or drewher out to their mad embraces again.

　　"All forgotten?" Miss Toland had asked, from her fifty years ofignorance, and "Now you must forget all the pain," Mrs. Toland had said,with her motherly smile.

　　Queer, drifting thoughts came and went in her active brain during thesequiet days of convalescence. She thought of girls she had known at TheAlexander, girls who had cried, and who had been blamed and ostracised,girls who had gone to the City and County Hospital for their bitterhour, and had afterward put the babies in the Asylum! Julia's thoughtswent by the baby in the next room, and at the picture of that tenderhelplessness, wronged and abandoned, her heart seemed to close like aclosing hand.

　　Anna Toland Studdiford would never be abandoned, no fear of that. Neverwas baby more closely surrounded with love and the means of protection.But the other babies, just as dear to other women, what of them? What ofmother hearts that must go through life knowing that there are littlecries they will never hear, tears they may never dry, tired littlebodies that will never know the restfulness of gentle arms? The terriblesum of unnecessary human suffering rose up like a black cloud all abouther; she seemed to see long hospital wards, with silent forms fillingthem day and night, night and day, the long years through; she hadglimpses of the crowded homes of the poor, the sick and helplessmothers, the crying babies. She suddenly knew sickness and helplessnessto be two of the greatest factors in human life.

　　"What if Heaven is only this earth, clean and right at last," musedJulia, "and Hell only the realization of what we might have done, anddidn't do—for each other!" And to Jim she said, smiling, "Thisexperience has not only given me a baby, and given me my own motherhood,but it seems to have given me all the mothers and the babies in theworld as well! I wish you were a baby doctor, Jim—the preservation ofbabies is the most important thing in the world!"

　　Slowly the kindly tides brought her back to life, and against her ownbelief that it would ever be so, she found herself walking again,essaying the stairs, taking her place at the table. Miss Wheaton wentaway, the capable Caroline took her place, and Julia was well.

　　Caroline was a silent, nice-looking, efficient woman of forty. She kneweverything there was to know about babies, and had more than one book toconsult when she forgot anything. She had been married, and had twohandsome sturdy little girls of her own, so that little Anna's rashesand colics, her crying days and the days in which she seemed to Juliaalarmingly good, presented no problems to Caroline. There was nothingJulia could tell her about sterilizing, or talcum powder, or keepinglight out of the baby's eyes, or turning her over in her crib from timeto time so that she shouldn't develop one-sidedly.

　　More than this, Anna was a good baby; she seemed to have something ofher mother's silent sweetness. She ran through her limited repertory ofeating, sleeping, bathing, and blinking at her friends with absoluteregularity.

　　"I'd just like you to leave the door open so that if she should cry atnight—" Julia said.

　　"But she never does cry at night!" Caroline smiled.

　　Julia persisted for some time that she wanted to bathe the baby everyday, but before Anna was two months old she had to give up the idea. Itbecame too difficult to do what nobody in the house wanted her to do,and what Caroline was only too anxious to perform in her stead. Jimliked to loiter over his breakfast, and showed a certain impatience whenJulia became restive.

　　"What is it, dear? What's Lizzie say? Caroline wants you?"

　　"It's just that—it's ten o'clock, Jim, and Caroline sent down to knowif I am going to give Anna her bath this morning!"

　　"Oh, bath—nothing! Let Caroline wait—what's the rush?"

　　"It's only that baby gets so cross, Jim!" Julia would plead.

　　"Well, let her. You know you mustn't spoil her, Julie. If there's onething that's awful it's a house run by a spoiled kid! Do let's have ourbreakfast in peace!"

　　Julia might here gracefully concede the point, and send a message toCaroline to go on without her. Or she might make the message a promiseto perform the disputed duty herself, "in just a few minutes."

　　She would run into the nursery breathlessly, and take the baby in herarms. Everything would be in readiness, the water twinkling in thelittle bathtub, soap and powder, fresh little clothes, and woolly bathapron all in order.

　　"But hush, Sweetest! How cross she is this morning, Caroline!"

　　"Yes, Mrs. Studdiford. You see she ought to be having her bottle now,it's nearly eleven! Dear little thing, she was so good and patient."

　　"Well, darling, Mudder'll be as quick as she can," Julia might consolethe baby, and under Caroline's cool eye, and with Anna screaming untilshe was scarlet from her little black crown to the soles of her feet,the bath would somehow proceed. Ellie might put her head in the door.

　　"Well—oh, the poor baby, were they 'busing Ellie's baby?" she wouldcroon, coming in. "Don't you care, because Ellie's going to beat 'em allwith sticks!"

　　Caroline anticipated Julia's every need on these occasions: the littleheap of discarded apparel was whisked away, band and powder werepromptly presented, the bath vanished, the clothes-rack with its tinyhangers was gone, and Julia had a moment in which to hug the weary,sleepy, hungry, fragrant little lump of girlhood in her arms.

　　"Bottle ready, Caroline?"

　　"Yes, Mrs. Studdiford. She goes out on the porch now, for her nap. Cometo Caroline, darling, and get something goody-good."

　　And so Julia had no choice but to go, wandering a little disconsolatelyto her own room, and wishing the baby took her nap at another hour andcould be played with now.

　　Presently outside interests began to claim her again, dressmakers andmanicures, shopping and the essential letter writing filled themornings, luncheons kept her late into the afternoons, there were callsand card playing and teas. Julia would have only a few minutes in thenursery before it was time to dress for dinner; sometimes Jim came in tofeast his eyes on the beautiful, serene little Anna, in her beautifulmother's arms; more often he was late, and Julia, trailing her eveninggown behind her, would fly for studs, and pull the boot-trees from Jim'sshining pumps.

　　In September they went to Burlingame for the polo tournament, and here,on an unseasonably hot day, Jim had an ugly little touch of the sun, andfor two or three days was very ill. They were terrible days to Julia.Richie came to her at once, and they took possession of the house of afriend, where Jim had chanced to be carried, and sent to San Rafael forJulia's servants; but two splendid nurses kept her out of the sickroom,and the baby was in San Rafael, so that Julia wandered about utterly ata loss to occupy heart or hands.

　　On the third day the fever dropped, and Julia crept in to laugh and cryover her big boy. Jim got well very quickly, and just a week from theday of the accident he and Julia went home to the enchanting Anna, andbegan to plan for a speedy removal to the Pacific Avenue house, so thatthe little episode was apparently quite forgotten by the time they wereback in the city and the season opened.

　　But looking back, months later, Julia knew that she could date adefinite change in their lives from that time. Whether his slightsunstroke had really given Jim's mind a little twist, or whether theshock left him unable to throw off oppressing thoughts with his oldbuoyancy, his wife did not know. But she knew that a certain sullen,unresponsive mood possessed him. He brooded, he looked upon her with aheavy eye, he sighed deeply when she drew his attention to the lovelylittle Anna.

　　Julia knew by this time that marriage was not all happiness, allirresponsible joy. She had often wondered why the women she knew did notsettle themselves seriously to a study of its phases, when the cloudlessdays inevitably gave place to something incomprehensible and disturbing.Even lovers like Kennedy and her husband had their times of being whollyout of sympathy with each other, she knew, and she and Jim were notangels; they must only try to be patient and forbearing until the darkhour went by.

　　With a sense of unbearable weight at her heart she resigned herself tothe hard task of endurance. Sometimes with a bitter rush would come thememory of how they had loved each other, and then Julia surrenderedherself to long paroxysms of tears; it was so hard, so bewildering, tohave Jim cold and quiet, to live in this painful alternation of hope andfear. But she never let Jim see her tears, and told herself bravely thatlife held some secret agony for every one, and that she must bear hershare of the world's burden. How had it all come about, she wondered.Her thoughts went back to the honeymoon, and she had an aching memory ofCentral Park in its fresh green, of Jim laughing at her when she triedto be very matronly, in her kimono, over their breakfast tray. Oh, theexquisite happy days, the cloudless, wonderful time!

　　She left the thought of it for the winter that followed. That had beenhappy, too. Not like the New York months, not without its gravemisgivings, not without its hours of bitter pain, yet happy on thewhole. Then Honolulu, all so bright a memory until that hour on theship—that first horrible premonition of so much misery that was tofollow. The San Mateo summer had somehow widened the wordless,mysterious gap between them, and the winter! Julia shuddered as shethought of the winter. Where was her soul while her body danced anddressed and dined and slept through those hot hours? Where was any one'ssoul in that desperate whirl of amusement?

　　But she had found her soul again, on the June day of Anna's coming. Andwith Anna had come to her what new hopes and fears, what newpotentialities and new sensibilities! She had always been silent,reserved, stoical by nature, accepting what life brought heruncomprehendingly, only instinctively and steadily fighting toward thatideal that had so long ago inspired her girlhood. Now she was awake,quivering with exquisite emotions, trembling with eagerness to adjusther life, and taste its full delicious savour. Now she wanted to laughand to talk, to sit singing to her baby in the firelight, to run to meether husband and fling herself into his arms for pure joy in life, andjoy that she was beautiful and young and mother of the dearest baby inthe world, and wife of the wisest and best of men. The past was blottedout for Julia now; her place in society was undisputed, not only as thewife of the rich young consulting surgeon, but for herself as well, andshe could make as little or as much as she pleased of society's claim.From her sickness she felt as if she had learned that there is sufferingand sorrow enough in the world without the need of deliberatelysustaining the old and long-atoned wrongs. More than that, she had cometo regard her own fine sense of right as a safer guide than any other,and by this she was absolved of the shadowy sin of her girlhood: theyears, the hours she had prayed, the long interval, absolved her. Juliafelt as if she had been born again.

　　In this mood Jim did not join her. As the weeks went by his aspect grewdarker and more dark, and life in the Pacific Avenue house became athing of long silences and rare and stilted phrases, and for the brieftime daily that they were alone together, husband and wife werewretchedly unhappy, Jim watching his wife gloomily, Julia feeling thathis look could chill her happiest mood. She had sometimes suspected thatthis state of affairs existed between other husbands and wives, andmarvelled that life went smoothly on; there were dinners and dances,there were laughter and light speech. Jim might merely answer herhalf-timid, half-confident "Good-morning" with only a jerk of his head;he might eat his breakfast in silence, and accord to Julia's briefoutline of dinner or evening engagements only a scowling monosyllable.Yet the day proceeded, there was the baby to visit, a dressmaker'sappointment to keep, luncheon and the afternoon's plans to be gottenthrough, and then there was the evening again, and Jim and herselfdressing in adjoining rooms in utter silence, silently descending towelcome their guests, or silently whirling off in the limousine.

　　Sometimes she fancied that when she resolutely assumed a cheerful tone,and determined to fight this unwholesome atmosphere with honest bravery,she merely succeeded in making Jim's mood uglier than ever. Often shetried a shy tenderness, but with no success.

　　One day when Miss Toland was lunching with her Julia made some allusionto the subject, in answer to the older woman's comment that she did notlook very well.

　　"I'm not very well, Aunt Sanna," said Julia, pushing her plate away, andresting both slim elbows on the table. "I'm worried."

　　"Not about Anna?" Miss Toland asked quickly.

　　"No-o! Anna, God bless her, is simply six-months-old perfection!" Juliasaid, with a brief smile. "No—about myself and Jim."

　　Miss Toland gave her a shrewd glance.

　　"Quarrelled, eh?" she said simply.

　　"Oh, no!" Julia felt her eyes watering. "No. I almost wish we had.Because then I could go to him, and say 'I'm sorry!'" she stammered.

　　"Sorry for what?" demanded Miss Toland.

　　"For whatever I'd done!" elucidated Julia, with her April smile.

　　"Yes, but suppose he'd done it, what then?" Miss Toland asked.

　　"Ah, well," Julia hesitated. "Jim doesn't do things!" she said vaguely.

　　"Jim's in one of his awful moods, I suppose?" his adopted aunt asked,after a pause.

　　"Oh, in a dreadful one!" Julia confessed.

　　"How long—days?"

　　"Weeks, Aunt Sanna!"

　　"Weeks? For the Lord's sake, that's awful!" Miss Toland frowned andrubbed the bridge of her nose. "What gets into the boy?" she saidimpatiently. "You don't know what it's about, I suppose?"

　　Julia hesitated. "I think it's that he gets to thinking of my old life,when I was a little nobody, south of Market Street," she hazarded withas much truth as she could.

　　"Oh, really!" Miss Toland said, in a tone of cold satire. But her lookfell with infinite tenderness and pity upon the drooping little figureopposite. "Yet there's nothing of the snob about Jim," she musedunhappily.

　　"Oh, no!" Julia breathed earnestly.

　　"There isn't, eh?" Miss Toland said. "I'm not so sure. I'm not at allsure. He isn't working too hard, is he?"

　　"He isn't working hard at all," Julia said. "Jim doesn't have a case, toworry over, twice a year. You see it's either City and County cases,that he just goes ahead and does, or else it's rich, rich people whohave one of the older doctors, and just call Jim in to assist orconsult. He was a little nervous over a demonstration before thestudents the other day, but at the very last second," Julia's quicksmile flitted over her face, "at the very last second the assistingnurse dropped the cold bone—as they call it—that Jim was going totransplant. Doctor Chapman told him he'd bet Jim bribed the girl to doit!"

　　"H'm!" Miss Toland said absently. "But his father was just another suchmoody fellow, queer as Dick's hatband!" she added, suddenly, after apause.

　　"Jim's father? I didn't know you knew him!"

　　"Knew him? Indeed I did! We all lived in Honolulu in those days.Charming, charming fellow, George Studdiford, but queer. He was verymusical, you know; he'd look daggers at you if you happened to sneeze inthe middle of one of his Beethoven sonatas. Tim's mother was very sweet,beautiful, too, but spoiled, Julia, spoiled!"

　　"Too much money!" Julia said, shaking her head.

　　"Exactly—there you have it!" Miss Toland assented triumphantly. "I'veseen too much of it not to know it. There's a sort of dry rot about it;even a fine fellow like Jim can't escape. But, my dear"—her tone becamereassuring—"don't let it worry you. He'll get over it. Just bide yourtime!"

　　"Well, that's just what I am doing," Julia said, with a rueful laugh."But it's like being in a bad dream. There is sorrow that you have tobear, don't you know, Aunt Sanna, like crippled children, or somebody'sdeath, or being poor; and then there are these other unnatural trials,that you just rebel against! I say to myself that I'll just be patientand sweet, and go on filling my time with Anna and calls and dinnerparties, until Jim comes to his senses and tells me what an angel I am,but it's awfully hard to do it! Sometimes the house seems like a vaultto me, in the mornings, even the sunshine"—Julia's eyes watered, butshe went steadily on—"even the sunshine doesn't seem right, and I feelas if I were eating ashes and cotton! I go about looking at otherhouses, and thinking, 'I wonder what men and women are being wretchedlyunhappy behind your plate-glass windows!' I watch other men and theirwives together," pursued Julia, smiling through tears, "and when womensay those casual things they are always saying, about not loving yourhusband after the first few months, and being disillusioned, and meaningless and less to each other, I feel as if it would break my heart!"

　　"Well," Miss Toland said, somewhat distressed, "of course, I'd ratherwalk into a bull fight than advise—"

　　"I know you would," Julia hastened to assure her. "That's why I've beentalking," she added, "and it's been a real relief! Don't think I'mcomplaining, Aunt Sanna—"

　　"No, my dear," Miss Toland said. "I'll never think anything that isn'tgood of you, Julie," she went on. "If Jim Studdiford is so selfish asto—to make his wife unhappy for those very facts that made him firstlove her and choose her, well, I think the less of Jim, that's all! Nowgive me a kiss, and we'll go and pick out something for Barbara's boy!"

　　"Well, it may be a pretty safe general rule not to discuss your husbandwith your women friends," Julia said gayly. "But I feel as if this talkhad taken a load off my heart! In books, of course," she went on, "thelittle governess can marry the young earl, and step right into noble,not to say royal, circles, with perfect calm. But in real life, she hasan occasional misgiving. I never can quite forget that Jim was aten-year-old princeling, with a pony and a tutor and little velvetsuits, and brushes with his little initials on them, when I was born inan O'Farrell Street flat!"

　　"Well, if you remember it," said Miss Toland, in affectionatedisapproval, "you're the only person who does!"

　　Either the confidential chat with Miss Toland had favourably affectedJulia's point of view, or the state of affairs between Jim and herselfactually brightened from that day. Julia noticed in his manner thatnight a certain awkward hint of reconciliation, and with it a flood oftenderness and generosity rose in her own heart, and she knew that,deeply as he had hurt her, she was ready to forgive him and to befriends again.

　　So a not unhappy week passed, and Julia, with more zest than she hadshown in some months, began to plan a real family reunion forThanksgiving, now only some ten days off. She wrote to the Doctor andMrs. Toland, to the Carletons and Aunt Sanna, and to Richie, who hadestablished himself in a little cottage on Mount Tamalpais, and who wassomewhat philanthropically practising his profession there. She verycarefully ordered special favours for the occasion, and selected twoeligible and homeless young men from her list of acquaintances to fillout the table and to amuse Constance and Jane. Jim had to go toSacramento on the Saturday before Thanksgiving for an importantoperation, but would be home again on Tuesday or Wednesday to take thehead of his own table on the holiday.

　　Julia offered, when the Friday night before his departure came, to helphim with packing. They had dined very quietly with friends that night,and found themselves at home again not very long after ten o'clock. ButJim, sinking into a chair beside the library fire, with an assortment ofnew magazines at his elbow, politely declined.

　　"Oh, no, thank you! Plenty of time for that in the morning. I don't gountil nine."

　　"Let Chadwick do it, anyway, Jim. Shall I tell Ellie to send him up ateight?"

　　"If you will. Thank you! Good-night!"

　　"Good-night!" And Julia trailed her satins and laces slowly upstairs,unfastening her jewels as she went. A little sense of discouragement wasfighting for possession; she fought it consciously as she had foughtsuch waves of despondency a hundred times before. She propped herselfcomfortably in pillows, turned on a light, and began to read.

　　Ellie fussed about the room for a few minutes, and then was gone. Thebig house was very still. Eleven o'clock struck from the little mahoganyclock on her mantel, midnight struck, and still Jim's footstep did notcome up the stairs, and there was no welcome sound of occupancy in theroom adjoining her own.

　　Suddenly terror smote Julia; she flung her book aside and sat up erectin bed. Her heart was thundering with fear; the silence of the house waslike that that follows an explosion.

　　For a few dreadful seconds she sat motionless; then she thrust her barefeet in the slippers of warm white fox that Ellie had put out, andcaught up a Japanese robe of black crepe, in which her figure was quitelost. Fastening the wide obi with trembling fingers, she slipped outinto the hall, dimly lighted and very still. Then she ran quicklydownstairs.

　　What sight of horror she expected to find in the library she did notknow, but the shock of revulsion, when the opened door showed hernothing more terrible than Jim, musing in the firelight, was almost asbad as a fright could have been.

　　"Oh, Jim!" she panted, coming in, one hand pressed against her heart, "Ithought something—I got frightened!"

　　Jim looked up with his old, tender, whimsical smile, the smile for whichshe had hungered so long, and held out a reassuring hand.

　　"Why, no, you poor kid!" he said. "I've been sitting right here!"

　　"I thought—and it was so still—and you didn't come up!" Julia said,beginning to sob. And in a moment she was in his arms, clinging to himin an ecstasy of love and relief. For a long blissful time they remainedso, the soft curve of Julia's cheek against Jim's face, her heartbeating quick above his own, her warm little figure, in its loose, softrobe, gathered closely to him.

　　"Feeling better now, old lady?"

　　"Oh, fine!" But Julia's face quivered with tears again at the tone.

　　"Well, then, what's this for?" He showed her a drop on the back of hishand.

　　"Be—because I love you so, Jim!"

　　"Well, you needn't cry over it!" said Jim gently. "I'm the one thatought to do the crying, Judy," he added, with a significant glance ather lovely flushed face and tear-bright blue eyes.

　　Julia leaned against him with a long, happy sigh.

　　"Oh, I'm so glad I came down!" she breathed contentedly.

　　"'Glad!'" Jim echoed soberly. "God! You don't know what it meant to meto look up and see my little Geisha coming in. I was going crazy, Ithink!"

　　"Ah, Jimmy, why do you?" she coaxed, one slender arm about his neck.

　　"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Made that way, I guess!"

　　For a while they were silent again, then Julia said softly:

　　"After all, nothing matters as long as we love each other!"

　　"No, no! You're right, Julie," he agreed seriously. "That's the onlything that counts. And you do love me, don't you?"

　　"Love you!" Julia said, with a shaky laugh.

　　"I get crazy notions. I nearly go mad, sometimes," Jim confessed. "I getto brooding—I know how rotten it is!" He fell silent, staring into thefire. "Happy?" he asked presently, glancing down at her as she restedquietly in his arms.

　　"Oh, happy!" Julia said, a break in her voice. "I wish I could die here,Jim. I wish I could go to sleep here and never wake up!"

　　"Like me as much as that baby, eh?" he asked, in a peculiar tone.

　　Julia sat up to face him, her cheeks bright under loosening films ofhair, her eyes starry in the firelight.

　　"Jimmy, you couldn't be jealous of your own baby?"

　　"Oh, couldn't I? I can be jealous of anything and everything,sometimes." He fixed troubled eyes on the fire. "I've been unhappy,Julie," he confessed.

　　"Unhappy? I've just been sick about it," Julia said. "I can't believethat we're talking about it, and it's all over!" She sighed luxuriously."There's no use of my doing anything when you're this way, Jim—I can'teven remember that you love me," she went on after a silence."Everything seems changed and queer. Sometimes I think you hate me,sometimes you give me such cold looks—oh, you do, Jimmy!—they justmake me feel sick and queer all over, if you know what I mean! And oh,"she sank back again with her head on his shoulder, "oh, if only then Icould dare just come down to you here like this, and make you take me inyour arms, and talk to me this way!"

　　"Don't!" Jim said briefly, kissing the top of her hair.

　　"It just seems to smoulder in my heart!" Julia said. "I can't bear it!';

　　"Don't!" he said again.

　　"Ah, but what makes you do it, Jim?" she asked, sitting erect to restboth wrists on his shoulders, and bring her blue eyes very near his own.Jim's glance did not meet hers, he looked sombrely past her at the fire.Suddenly she felt his arms tighten about her with a force that almosthurt her.

　　"Oh, it's this!" he said harshly, "I love you—you're mine! You're thething I live for, the thing I'm proudest of! I can't bear to think therewas a time when I didn't know you, my little innocent girl! I can'tbear—my God!—to think that you cared for some one else—!"

　　And with swift force he got to his feet, and put her in his chair. Juliasat motionless while he took a restless brief turn about the room. Hesnatched a little jade god from the table, examined it closely, and putit down again, to come and stand with his back to the fire, one armflung across the mantel, and his gloomy eyes fixed on her. Julia met therushing, engulfing wave of her own emotion bravely.

　　"Jim," she said bravely, "does it mean nothing to you that there wereother women in your life before you knew me?"

　　"Dearest," he answered seriously and quickly, "God knows that I wouldcut my hand off to be able to blot that all out of my boyhood. Thosethings mean nothing to a man, Ju, and they meant less to me than to mostmen. Women can't understand that, but if you knew how men regard it, youwould realize that very few can bring their wives as clean a record asmine!"

　　He had said this much before, never anything more. Julia, looking at himnow with all the tragic sorrow of her life in her magnificent eyes, feltthe utter impossibility of convincing him that this accusation on herpart, and bravely boyish and honest confession on his, had any logicalor possible connection with the momentous conversation that they werehaving to-night. Her heart recoiled in sick terror from any word thatwould hurt or estrange him now, but she might have found that word, andmight have said it, could she have hoped that it would convey hermeaning to him. But Jim's standard of morals, for himself, was, likethat of most men, still the college standard. It was too bad to haveclouded the bright mirror, but it was inevitable, given youth and redblood. And it was admirable to regret it all now. Any fresh attempt onJulia's part to bring to his realization the parallel in theirsituations, would have elicited from him only fresh, youthfulacknowledgments, until that second when anger and astonishment at herbold effort to reduce the two distinct codes to one would end thistalk—like so many others!—with new coldnesses and silences. Juliaabandoned this line of argument once and for all.

　　"I never cared for any one but you in my life, Jim," she said, with drylips.

　　"I know," he muttered, brushing his hair back with an impatient hand. Asecond later he came to kneel penitently before her. "I'm sorry,sweetheart," he said pleadingly. "You're a little angel of forgivenessto me—I don't deserve it! I know how I make you suffer!"

　　"Jim," she said, feeling old, and tired, and cold to her heart's core,"do you think you do?"

　　"I know how I suffer!" he answered bitterly.

　　"Jim, suppose it was something you had done long ago that I couldn'tforgive?"

　　"It isn't a question of forgiveness," he answered quickly."Forgiveness—when you are the sweetest and best wife a man ever had!No, darling," he caught both her hands in his own, "you must never thinkthat, it's never that! It's only my mad, crazy jealousy. I tell you I'mashamed of it, and I am! Just be patient with me, Julia!"

　　Julia stared at him a few moments silently, her hands locked about hisneck.

　　"Ah, but you worry me so when you're like this, Jim," she saidpresently, in the gentle, troubled tone a mother might use. "There seemsto be nothing I can do. I can only worry and wait!"

　　"I know, I know," he said hastily. "Don't remind me of it! My father waslike that, you know. My father shot at a man once because he was rude tomy mother when he was drunk—shot him right through the shoulder! Itraised the very deuce of a scandal down there in Honolulu! He tookMother to Europe to get away from the fuss, and paid the man the Lordknows what to quiet the thing!"

　　"Yes, but life isn't like that, Jim," Julia protested. "Life isn't sosimple! Shooting at somebody, and buying his silence, and rushing off toEurope! Why can't you just say to yourself reasonably—"

　　"'Reasonably,' dearest!" he echoed cheerfully, with a kiss. "When was ajealous man ever reasonable!"

　　"But think how wonderfully happy we are, Jim," she persisted wistfully."Suppose there is one part trouble, one part of your life that you don'tlike, why can't you be happy because ninety-nine parts of it areperfect?"

　　"I don't know; talking with you here, I can't understand it," he said."But I get thinking—I get thinking, and my heart begins to hammer, andI lie awake nights, and I'd like to get up and strangle someone—"

　　His vehemence died into abashed silence before her grave eyes.

　　"I ought to be the one to stamp and rave over this," Julia said. "Iought to remind you that you knew my history when you married me; andyou know life, too—you were ten years older than I, and how much moreexperienced! All I knew was learned at the settlement house, or frombooks. And the reason I don't rave and stamp, Jim," she went on, "isbecause I am different from you. I realize that that doesn't helpmatters. We must make the best of it now, we must help each other! Yousee I have no pride about it. I know I am better than many—thanmost—of these society women all about us, but I don't force you toadmit that. They break every other commandment of God, yes, and thatone, too, and they commit every one of the deadly sins! It seems to mesometimes as if 'gluttony, envy, and sloth' were the very foundation onwhich the lives of some of these people rest, and as for pride and angerand lust, why, we take them for granted! Yet, whoever thinks seriouslyof saying so?"

　　"You make me ashamed, Julie," Jim said, after a pause, during which hiseyes had not moved from her face. "I can only say I'm sorry. I'm verysorry! Sometimes I think you're a good deal bigger man than I am; but Ican't help it. However, I'm going to try. From to-night on I'm going totry."

　　"We'll both try," Julia said, and they kissed each other.