art of a play. You don't matter to her any more; I don't; she sees
things too big. She's quite extraordinary; the most extraordinary person
I ever knew, I think. There's a completeness, a _finish_ about her. She's
not waiting for any self-defence from you, Jim. It won't do you any good
to tell her why you did this or that. You thought this was justified,
you thought that was--certainly, she isn't disputing it. You did what
you did; now she's going to abide by it. You never dreamed thus and
so--very well, the worse for you! You want to hark back to something
that's long dead and gone; all right, only abide by your decision. And
afterward, when you realize that she's a thousand times finer than the
women you compare her to, and try to make her like, then don't come
crying to _her_!"

A long silence, then Jim stood up.

"Well, I've made an utter mess of it, as I began by saying!" he said,
with a grim laugh. "Going to dine here, Rich? Let's eat together.
Here"--one big clever hand gave Richard just the help he needed--"let me
help you, old boy!"

"I thought I'd go home to Mill Valley," Richard said. "I can't catch
anything before the six-forty, but the horse is in the village, and my
boy will scare me up some soup and a salad. I'd rather go. I like to
wake in my own place."

"I wish you'd let me go with you, Rich," Jim said, with a gentleness new
to him. "I'm so sick of everything. I can't think of anything I'd like
so well."

"Sure, come along," Richard said, touched. "Everything's pretty simple,
you know, but I'll telephone Bruce and have him--"

"Cut out the telephoning," Jim interrupted. "Bread and coffee'll do. And
a fire, huh?"

"Sure," Richard said again, "there's always a fire."

"Great!" Jim approved. "We can smoke, and talk about--"

"About Ju," Richie supplied, with a gruff little laugh, as he paused.

"About Ju," Jim repeated, with a long sigh.

Two days later he went to see her, to beg her to be his wife again. He
asked her to forget and forgive the past, to trust him once more, to
give him another chance to make her happy. He spoke of the Harley Street
house, of the new friends she would find, of Barbara's nearness with the
boys that Julia loved so well. He spoke of Anna; for Anna's sake they
must be together; their little girl must not be sacrificed. Anna should
have the prettiest nursery in London, and in summer they would go down
to Barbara, and the cousins should play together.

Julia listen