ntal temerity
with which she told him that this invitation had been accepted, this
social obligation incurred, this empty Sunday filled to overflowing with
engagements.

And now Jim approved, and Julia had to hide in the depth of her hurt
soul the fact that she had never dreamed he _could_ approve. However
tired, he liked to come home to the necessity of immediately assuming
evening dress, and going out into the night again. He and Julia held a
cheerful conversation between their dressing-rooms as they dressed;
later they chattered eagerly enough in the limousine, Jim enthusiastic
over his wife's gown, and risking a kiss on her bare shoulder when the
car turned down a dark street. Jim, across a brilliant table, in a
strange house, did not seem to Julia to belong to her at all; but it was
almost as if he found his wife more fascinating when the eyes of
outsiders were upon her, and admired Julia in a ballroom more than he
did when they had the library and the lamplight to themselves, at home.

They would come home together late and silent. Ellie would come in to
help her lovely mistress out of the spangled gown, to lift the
glittering band from her bright hair. And because of Ellie, and because
Jim usually was dressed and gone before she was up in the morning, Julia
had a room to herself now. She would have much preferred to breakfast
with her lord, but Jim himself forbade it.

"No, no, no, Ju! It's not necessary, and you're much better off in bed.
That's the time for you to get a little extra rest. No human being can
stand the whole season without making some rest up somehow! You'll see
the girls begin to drop with nervous prostration in January; Barbara
used to lose twenty pounds every winter. And I won't _have_ you getting
pale. Just take things easy in the morning, and sleep as late as you
can!"

Julia accepted the verdict mildly. With the opening of her second winter
in San Francisco's most exclusive set, she had tried to analyze the
whole situation, honestly putting her prejudices on one side, and
attempting to get her husband's point of view. It was the harder because
she had hoped to be to Jim just what Kennedy Marbury was to Anthony,
united by a thousand needs, little and big, by the memory of a thousand
little comedies and tragedies. Kennedy, who worried about bills and who
dreaded the coming of the new baby, could stop making a pie to
administer punishment and a lecture to her oldest son, stop again to
ans