rmured, seating herself
nevertheless. "And there isn't very much to it, anyway," she added, with
a bright air of candour. "I wrote Jim a line, and he came to our house
in Ludbroke Road, and we had a little talk. He's fatter. He was awfully
interested in some knee-cap operation--"

"Babbie!" Julia reproached her.

"And we talked about everything," Barbara hastened to say.

"Me?" Julia asked flatly.

"A little," Barbara admitted. "I had nurse bring the boys in--"

"Oh, Barbara, for God's sake tell me!" Julia said, in an agonized burst.

"Oh, Julie--if only I'm doing the right thing!" Barbara answered in
distress.

"This _is_ the right thing," Julia assured her. "This is my affair."

"Francis and Mother--" Barbara began again, hesitatingly. But
immediately she dismissed the doubts with a shake of her head, and
suddenly assuming a confident air, she began: "I'll tell you exactly
what happened, Ju. Jim came one afternoon; I was all alone, and we had
tea. He's very much changed, Ju. He's harder, in some way, and--well,
changed. Jim never used to be able to conceal his feelings, you know,
but now--why, one feels that he's dissembling all the time! He was so
friendly, and cheerful, and interested--and yet--There was something
all wrong. He didn't exactly _evade_ the subject of you and Anna, but he
just said 'Yes?' or 'No?' when I talked of you--"

"I know exactly how," Julia said, wincing at some memory.

"I touched him on the quick finally," Barbara pursued; "something I said
about you made him colour up, that brick-red colour of his--"

"I know!" Julia said quickly again.

"But, Julia," Barbara added earnestly, "you've no _idea_ how hard it was!
I told him how grieved and troubled we all were by this silence between
you, and I went and got that snapshot Rich took of Anna, you know, the
one with the collies. Well, way in the back of that picture you were
snapped, too, the tiniest little figure, for you were way down by the
road, and Anna close to the porch. But, my dear, he hardly glanced at
Anna; he said in a quick, hushed sort of voice, 'What's she in black
for?' Then I saw your picture for the first time, and said, 'Why, that
must be Julia!' 'Certainly, it's Julia,' he said. I told him your
grandmother had died, and he said, 'But she's still needed there, is
she?' That was the first sign of _anything_ like naturalness. And, oh, Ju,
if only it had happened that Francis didn't come in then! But he did,
starving