lish--it's Mrs. Lawrence, the
Consul's wife. What pretty hands English people write!"

"You've changed very much," Jim observed, after a sulphurous silence.

"I have?" Julia asked naively. "In what way?"

"Why didn't you want to see me?"

"Oh--" Julia laid the letter down, and for the first time gave him her
full attention. "I've changed my mind about that, Jim," she said
frankly. "I thought at first that it was an unwise thing, but I feel
differently now. Of course you know," continued Julia, with pretty
childish gravity, "that for me there can be no consideration of divorce;
I shall never be any other man's wife, and never be free. But if, as Bab
says, you have come to feel that you want something different, and if
you have drifted so far from your religion as to feel that a legal
document can undo what was solemnly done in the name of God, why then I
shan't oppose it. You can call it desertion or incompatibility, I don't
care."

"Who said I wanted a divorce?" Jim demanded, in his ugliest tone. His
face was a dull, heavy red, and veins swelled on his forehead.

"My life is full and happy," Julia pursued contentedly, paying no
attention to his question. "I'm not very exacting, as you know. Mama
needs me, and I have everything I want."

"You talk very easily of divorce," Jim said, in an injured tone, after a
pause. "But is it fair to have it all arranged before I say a word?"

Julia's answer was only a look--a full, clear, level look that scorched
him like a flame; her cheeks above the black of her gown burned scarlet;
she was growing angry.

Jim played with an empty envelope for a few minutes, fitting a ringer
tip to each corner and lifting it stiffly. Presently he dropped it,
folded his arms, and rested them on the table.

"This is a serious matter," he said gravely. "And we must think about
it. But you must forgive me for saying that it is a great shock to come
home and find you talking that way, Julie. I--God knows I'm bad enough,
but I _don't_ think I deserve quite this!" added Jim gently.

A long interval of silence, for Julia a busy interval, followed.

"When am I going to see Anna?" Jim asked, ending it.

"Whenever you want to," Julia said pleasantly. "I've familiarized her
with your picture; she'll be friendly at once; she always is. Some day,
when you are going to be here, I'll send her over for the day. She loves
Sausalito, and I really believe she'd do poor Mother good."

"And when shall I co