tiful old place, the lovely homes set in enchanting old gardens, the
lawns and drives stretching under an endless vista of superb oaks.
There, alone with Jim, in a little cottage--ah, there would have been
nothing boring about that!

But the Hardesty cottage never seemed like home to her, they had rented
the big, shingled brown house for only three months, and Jim was anxious
that she should not tire herself with altering the arrangement of
furniture and curtains for so casual a tenancy. The Hardesty's pictures
looked down from the wall, their chairs were unfriendly, their books
under lock and key. Not a lamp, not a cup or saucer was familiar to
Julia; she felt uncomfortable in giving dinner parties with "H" on the
silver knives and forks; she never liked the look of the Hardesty linen.
Life seemed unreal in the "Cottage"; she seemed to be pushed further and
further away from reassuring contact with the homely realities of love
and companionship; chattering people were always about her, pianoplayers
were rippling out the waltz from "The Merry Widow," ice was clinking in
cocktail shakers, the air was scented with cigarettes, with the powder
and perfumery of women. She and Jim dined alone not oftener than once a
week, and their dinner was never finished before friendly feet crisped
on the gravel curve of the drive, and friendly invaders appeared to
invite them to do something amusing: to play cards, to take long spins
in motor cars, or to spend an idle hour or two at the club. Sometimes
they were separated, and Julia would come in, chilled and tired after a
long drive, to find Jim ahead of her, already sound asleep. Sometimes
she left him smoking with some casual guest, and fell asleep long before
the voices downstairs subsided. Even if they went upstairs together,
both were tired; there was neither time nor inclination for confidences,
for long and leisurely talk.

"Happy?" Jim said to his wife one day, when Julia, looking the picture
of happiness, had come downstairs to join him for some expedition.

"Happy enough," Julia said, with her grave smile. She took the deep
wicker chair next his, on the porch, and sat looking down the curve of
the drive to the roadway beyond a screen of trees.

"Heavenly afternoon," she said. "Just what are we doing?"

"Well, as near as I got it from Greg," Jim informed her a little
uncertainly, "we go first to his place, and then split up into about
three cars there; Mrs. Peter and Mrs. B