Rich?" she asked lazily, in a quiet interval.

"Oh, _pleasant_!" He cleared his throat. "Yes--it's very pleasant!"

"And why couldn't you and I have done this just as well without Aunt
Sanna?" Julia asked triumphantly.

Richard gave her a look full of all-dignified endurance, a look that
wondered a little that she could like to give him pain.

"No reason at all," said he. And a sudden suspicion flamed in Julia's
heart with all the surety of an inspiration.

The revelation came in absolute completeness; she had never even
suspected Richie's little tragedy before. For a few moments Julia sat
stunned, then she said seriously:

"I always feel myself so much Jim's wife, Rich; I suppose it's a sort of
protection to me. It never occurs to me that any one could think me less
bound than I think myself."

"Sure you do!" Richard said, struggling with the back log. "But other
people might not! And it would be rotten to have him come back and hear
anything."

"I suppose he'll come back," Julia said, dreamily, almost in a whisper.
"I don't think of it much, now! I used to think of it a good deal at
first; I used to cry all night long sometimes, and write him long
letters that I never sent. It seemed as if the longing for him was
burning me up, like a fire!"

"Damn him!" Richard muttered.

"Oh, no, Richie, don't say that!" Julia protested. Richard, still on one
knee, with the poker in his hand, turned to her almost roughly.

"For God's sake, Julie, don't defend him! I'll hold my tongue about him,
I suppose, as I always have done, but don't pretend he has any excuse
for treating you this way! You--the best and sweetest and bravest woman
that ever lived, bringing happiness and decency wherever you go--"

"Richie, Richie, stop!" Julia protested, between laughter and tears.
"Don't talk so! I _will_ defend Jim," she added gravely, "and he _did_ have
an excuse. It seems unfair to me that he should have all the blame." She
held her hand out, fingers spread to the reviving flame, rosy and
transparent in the glow.

"Rich, no one knows this but Jim and me; not Aunt Sanna, not my own
mother," she presently resumed. "But it makes what he did a little
clearer, and I'm going to tell you."

"Don't tell me anything," said Richard gruffly, eyes on the fire.

"Yes, I want to," Julia answered. But she was silent for a while, a look
of infinite sadness on her musing face. "I made a serious mistake when I
was a girl, Rich," she went on,