o Julia's bedroom, and sat perched at the end
of her bed, with her knees tucked under her chin, and said,--

'I'm not Charles's wife, Julia.'

'I know that,' replied the kind creature.

'But I _am_ married to him.'

'Good God!' Julia sat up and clasped her hand to her capacious
bosom.... 'Not a ceremony!'

'Yes. In an office near the Strand.'

'My dear child, my dear, dear child,' Julia began to weep. 'It's ...
it's ... it's ...'

'I know what it is,' said Clara, setting her jaw. 'I don't know what
to do.'

'You must never see him again.'

'But I must. I _am_ married to him inside me. He can't do anything
without me. I've made him come over here....'

'Didn't you know?'

'I knew nothing except that I loved him.'

'But people can't love like that.'

'I do.'

'He ran away from all that--and there were other things.... Oh, my
dear, dear child, have you nobody belonging to you?'

'Only Charles. And I've hurt him.'

'What does he say?'

'He doesn't seem to realise....'

'I'd like to thrash him within an inch of his life.... The only thing
to be thankful for is that you are not married to him. Not realise,
indeed! He walked out of his marriage like a man bilking his rent.'

'He is an artist. His work is more important to him than anybody.'

Julia wept and wailed. 'The scoundrel! The scoundrel! The
blackguard!'

'I won't have you calling him names. I won't have it. I won't have
it,' cried Clara, her feelings finding vent in an outburst of temper.
'And you're not to tell a soul, not even Freeland. I won't have
anybody interfering. I will handle this myself because I know more
about it than anybody else.... It doesn't help me at all to hear you
abusing Charles. It only hurts me.... I've made a mistake, and I am
going through with it.'

'But you can't live with him.'

'You live with Freeland.'

'Yes. But we're not married, so nobody worries; at least I am married,
so is Freeland. That makes it all right. If people are married it is
different.'

The complications of the position were beyond Julia's intelligence, and
she began to laugh hysterically. Clara laughed, too, but from genuine
amusement. The world certainly did look very funny from the detachment
now forced upon her: deliciously funny, and Charles appeared in her
thoughts as a kind of Harlequin dancing through the world, peering into
the houses where people were captive, tapping the doors with his wand
so tha