over again her spirit shrank at some new evidence of the fact
that, with all his love for her, his admiration, his loyalty, there was
a reservation in her husband's heart, a conviction--of which he was
perhaps not conscious himself--that Julia was not quite as other women.
Her criticism of others must be more gentle, her opinion less
confidently offered. Others might find in her exceptional charms, rare
strength, and rare wisdom--not Jim. For him she was always the exquisite
penitent, who had so royally earned a perpetually renewed forgiveness,
the little crippled playfellow whom it was his delight to carry in his
arms. His judgment for what concerned his children was the wiser, and
for her, too, when she longed to throw herself into this work of reform
or that--to expose herself, in other words, to the very element from
which a kind Providence had seen fit to remove her. Obviously, on
certain subjects there must not be two opinions, in any house, and,
whatever the usual custom, obviously he was the person to decide in his
own.

"Rich says you were not a saint yourself when you were in college, Jim!"
she had burst out once, long years ago, before their separation. But
only once. After all, the laws were not of Jim's making; whatever he had
done, he was a respecter of convention, a keeper of the law of man.
Julia had broken God's law, had repented, and had been forgiven. But she
had also broken the law of man, for which no woman ever is forgiven. And
though this exquisite and finished woman, with her well-stored brain and
ripened mind, her position and her charm, was not the little Julia Page
of the old O'Farrell Street days, she must pay the price of that other
Julia's childish pride and ignorance still.

She must go on, listening, with her wise, wistful smile, to the chatter
of other women, wincing at a thousand little pricks that even her
husband could not see, winning him from his ugly moods with that mixture
of the child and the woman that his love never could resist.

His love! After all he did love her and his children, and she loved the
three with every fibre of heart and soul. Julia ended her reverie, as
she always ended her reveries, with a new glow of hope in her heart and
a half smile on her lips. Their love would save them all--love fulfilled
the law.

"Julia!" said Jim, at the door, "where are you?"

She turned in her window recess.

"Not escaped, O Sultan!"

"Well"--he had his arm about her, his ai