ful; not envy,
not regret, not resentment, a little of all three. This happy,
care-free, sun-flooded life was not for her, how far, far, far from her,
indeed! She was here only by accident, tolerated gayly for hospitality's
sake, her coming and going only an insignificant episode in their lives.
Wistfully she watched Mrs. Toland tying little Constance's sash and
straightening her flower-crowned hat for church; wistfully eyed the
cheerful, white-clad Chinese cook, grinning as he went to gather
lettuces; wistfully she stared across the brilliant garden from her deep
porch chair. Barbara, in conference with a capped and aproned maid at
the end of a sunny corridor, Sally chatting with Richie, as she
straightened the scattered books on the library table, Ted dashing off a
popular waltz with her head turned carelessly aside to watch the
attentive Keith; all these to Julia were glimpses of a life so free, so
full, so invigorating as to fill her with hopeless longing and
admiration.

All her affectation and arrogance dropped from her before their simple,
joyous naturalness. Julia had no feeling of wishing to impress them, to
assert her own equality. Instead she genuinely wanted them to like her;
she carried herself like the little girl she looked in her sailor
blouse, like the little girl she was.

At twelve o'clock a final rehearsal of "The Amazons" was held at the
yacht club, and to-day Julia entered into her part with zest, her
enthusiasm really carrying the performance, as the appreciative "Matty"
assured her. She had the misfortune to step on a ruffle of her borrowed
white petticoat, at the very close of the last act, and slipped into the
dressing-room to pin it up as soon as the curtain descended.

The dressing-room was deserted. Julia found a paper of pins, and,
putting her foot up on a chair, began to repair the damage as well as
she could. The day was warm, and only wooden shutters screened the big
window that gave on one of the club's wide porches. Julia, humming
contentedly to herself, presently became aware that there were chairs
just outside the window, and girls in the chairs--Barbara Toland and
Ted, and Miss Grinell and Miss Hazzard, and one or two Julia did not
know.

"Yes, Mother's a darling," Barbara was saying. "You know she didn't get
this up, Margaret; she had _nothing_ to do with it, and yet she's
practically carrying the whole responsibility now! She'll be as nervous
as we are to-morrow night!"

Ju