er face still half hidden by her
strong, capable fingers--a figure exquisitely symbolic, full of pathos.
Her elbows rested upon her knees; she was crouched a little forward.
"Julia!" he ventured at last.

She looked up, without undue haste but without hesitation. She had
obviously been waiting for speech from him. He saw then that his
impression had been a true one. There were no traces of tears in her
eyes, which sought his at once--sought his with a look which warned him
suddenly of his danger. Her cheeks were burning; she was still shaking
with some internal passion.

"After all," he said soothingly, "there are such people in the world.
One can't ignore the fact of their existence. They don't really count."

Her eyes flashed.

"It is terrible that they should be allowed to live."

He smiled at her sympathetically. Speech seemed somehow to lessen the
tension between them.

"My dear Julia," he declared, "I am suffering just as much as you. I
have the feeling that I have descended to the level of a common brawler.
Yet what was I to do? he needed the lesson very badly indeed."

"I only hope that it will last him all his life. I only hope that he
will not come near either of us again."

"Very doubtful whether he will want to, I should think," Maraton
remarked, leaning against the table. "You certainly didn't mince your
words."

"If I could have thought of harsher ones, I would have used them," she
asserted.

"What a waste of time it has been this evening!" He sighed, as his
fingers turned over the pile of letters by his side. "What with Mr.
Peter Dale and his little deputation, and this idiotic person Graveling,
I have scarcely done a thing since I got home."

"There's nothing that you need do until to-morrow," she told him softly.

There was another brief pause. She was sitting up now--leaning back in
her chair, indeed--trembling no longer, although the colour still flamed
in her cheeks. Her eyes, which seldom left his face, were strangely,
almost liquidly soft. Maraton moved restlessly in his place. Perhaps
he had been unwise not to have stolen out of the room during the first
few moments. Julia, as he very well knew, was no ordinary person, and
he felt a sense of growing uneasiness. The tension of silence became
ominous and he spoke simply to dissipate it.

"I hope I really didn't hurt the fellow."

"If you had killed him," she replied, "he deserved it!"

"He was an insulting beast, of course," Marat