threads of the tablecloth with a fork, her thoughts flying.

Presently she roused herself, telephoned Jim's chauffeur and the agent
of the Pacific Avenue house, bathed her reddened eyes, and inspected her
new furs, just home from the shop. Now and then her breast rose with a
long sigh, but she did not cry again.

"I'll wear my new furs," she decided soberly. "Jim loves me to look
pretty. And I _must_ cheer up; he hates me to be blue! Who can I lunch
with, to cheer up? Aunt Sanna! I'll get a cold chicken and some cake,
and go out to The Alexander!"

So the outward signs of the storm were obliterated, and no one knew of
the scar that Julia carried from that day in her heart. Only a tiny,
tiny scar, but enough to remind her now and then with cold terror that
even into her Paradise the serpent could thrust his head, enough to
prove to her bitter satisfaction that there was already something that
Jim's money could not buy.

The furnishing of the Pacific Avenue house proceeded apace--it was an
eminently gratifying house to furnish, and Jim and Julia almost wished
their labours not so light. All rugs looked well on those beautiful
floors; all pictures were at their best against the dull rich tones of
the walls. Did Mrs. Studdiford like the soft blue curtains in the
library, or the dull gold, or the coffee-coloured tapestry? Mrs.
Studdiford, an exquisite little figure of indecision, in a great
Elizabethan chair of carved black oak, didn't really know; they were all
so beautiful! She wondered why the blue wouldn't be lovely in the
breakfast room, if they used the gold here? Then she wouldn't use the
English cretonne in the breakfast room? Oh, yes, of course, she had
forgotten the English cretonne!

At last it was all done, from the two stained little Roman marble
benches outside the front door, to the monogrammed sheets in the attic
cedar closet. The drawing-room had its grand piano, its great mahogany
davenport facing the fire, its rich dark rugs, its subdued gleam of
copper and crystal, dull blue china and bright enamel. The little
reception room was gay with yellow-gold silk and teakwood; Jim's library
was severely handsome with its dark leather chairs and rows of dark
leather bindings. A dozen guests could sit about the long oak table in
the dining-room; the great sideboard with its black oak cupids and
satyrs, and its enormous claw feet, struck perhaps the only pretentious
note in the house. A wide-lipped bowl, in cle