on; men have more leisure to take an
interest in women's work; why, you've no idea how many interesting,
clever, charming men I know in London! How many does one know here? And
as for the _women_--"

It was then Julia said:

"Ah, well, you're different from other women. You're so busy--and
necessary--and unself-conscious, Barbara. You make other women seem such
fools!"

"Not necessarily," said Barbara, smiling. "And don't think I'm horribly
conceited, Julia, talking this way. It's only to you!" They walked a
little way without speaking, and then Barbara sat down on a low bank,
some quarter of a mile above Richie's cabin, and added: "Do sit down,
Ju. You and I are never alone, and I want to talk to you. Julie, don't
be angry--it's about Jim."

Julia's eyes immediately widened, her lips met firmly, she grew a little
pale.

"Go ahead," she said steadily. "Have you seen him?"

Barbara answered the question with another.

"You knew he was in London?"

"No," said Julia, "I didn't know it."

She had remained standing, and now Barbara urged her again to sit down.
But Julia would not, pleading that she would rather walk, and in the end
Barbara got up, and they began slowly to walk down the road together.

"Tell me," Julia commanded then.

"Now, dearest girl," Barbara pleaded, "_Please_ don't get excited over
nothing. Jim's been in London nearly a year; in fact, he's settled
there. He's associated with one of the biggest consulting surgeons we
have, old Sir Peveril McCann. They met in Berlin. I didn't know it until
this spring--March it was. We'd just come up from the country to meet
Francis, home on a year's leave; it was just before Malcolm arrived.
Somebody spoke of this Doctor Studdiford, and I said at once that it
must be my foster brother. I explained as well as I could that since
Francis and I had been travelling so much, Jim and I had fallen out of
touch, and so on."

"Who told you about him?" Julia asked.

"A Mrs. Chancellor. She's quite a character," Barbara said. "Some people
like her; some don't. I don't--much. She's rich, and a widow; she
studies art, and she loves to get hold of interesting people."

Julia winced at the vision of a plump, forty-year-old siren sending
coquettish side glances at an admiring Jim. Anger stirred dully within
her.

"Pretty?" she asked, in as nonchalant a voice as she could command.

"Ivy Chancellor? No--she's really plain," Barbara said, "a sandy,
excitable little ch