ss's cheeks were by now one flush. She had a romantic affection
for Julie, and would not have offended her for the world.

Julie turned round. She was always pale, and the Duchess saw nothing
unusual.

"Am I so keen?"

"Julie, you have done everything in the world for this man since he came
home."

"Well, he interested me," said Julie, stepping back to look at the
effect of one of the vases. "The first evening he was here, he saved me
from Lady Henry--twice. He's alone in the world, too, which attracts
me. You see, I happen to know what it's like. An only son, and an
orphan, and no family interest to push him--"

"So you thought you'd push him? Oh, Julie, you're a darling--but you're
rather a wire-puller, aren't you?"

Julie smiled faintly.

"Well, perhaps I like to feel, sometimes, that I have a little power. I
haven't much else."

The Duchess seized one of her hands and pressed it to her cheek.

"You have power, because every one loves and admires you. As for me, I
would cut myself in little bits to please you.... Well, I only hope,
when he's married his heiress, if he does marry her, they'll remember
what they owe to you."

Did she feel the hand lying in her own shake? At any rate, it was
brusquely withdrawn, and Julie walked to the end of the table to fetch
some more flowers.

"I don't want any gratitude," she said, abruptly, "from any one. Well,
now, Evelyn, you understand about the bazaar? I wish I could, but
I can't."

"Yes, I understand. Julie!" The Duchess rose impulsively, and threw
herself into a chair beside the table where she could watch the face and
movements of Mademoiselle Le Breton. "Julie, I want so much to talk to
you--about _business_. You're not to be offended. Julie, _if_ you leave
Lady Henry, how will you manage?"

"How shall I live, you mean?" said Julie, smiling at the euphemism in
which this little person, for whom existence had rained gold
and flowers since her cradle, had enwrapped the hard facts of
bread-and-butter--facts with which she was so little acquainted that
she approached them with a certain delicate mystery.

"You must have some money, you know, Julie," said the Duchess, timidly,
her upraised face and Paris hat well matched by the gay poinsettias, the
delicate eucharis and arums with which the table was now covered.

"I shall earn some," said Julie, quietly.

"Oh, but, Julie, you can't be bothered with any other tiresome old
lady!"

"No. I should keep my fr