ed attentively, her head a little on one side, her eyes
following the movements of Anna herself, who was digging about under the
rose bushes in the backyard. Julia and Jim sat on the steps that ran
down from the kitchen porch. It was a soft, hazy afternoon, with filmy
streaks of white crossing the pale blue sky, and sunshine, thin and
golden, lying like a spell over Julia's garden.

"I was a fool," said Jim. "There--I can't say more than that, Ju. And
I've paid for my folly. And, dearest, I'm so bitterly sorry! I can't
explain it. I don't understand it myself--I only know that I'd give ten
years off the end of my life to have the past five to live over again.
Forgive me, Ju. It's all gone out of my heart now, all that old misery,
and I never could hurt you again on that score. It _doesn't exist_, any
more, for me. Say that you'll forgive me, and let me be the happiest and
proudest man in the world--how happy and proud--taking my wife and baby
to England!"

The hint of a frown wrinkled Julia's forehead, her eyes were sombre with
her own thoughts.

"Think what it would mean to Mother, and to Bab, and to all of us," Jim
pursued, as she did not speak. "They've been so worried about it--they
care so much!"

"Yes, I know!" Julia said quickly, and fell silent again.

"Is it your own mother's need of you?" the man asked after a pause.

"No." Julia gave a cautious glance at the kitchen door behind her.
"No--Aunt May is wonderful with her. Muriel's at home a good deal, and
Geraldine very near," she said. "And more than that, this separation
between you and me worries Mother terribly; she doesn't understand it.
She's very different in these days, Jim, so gentle and good and brave--I
never saw such a change! No, she'd love to have me go if it was the best
thing to do--it's not that--"

Her voice dropped on a note of fatigue. Her eyes continued to dwell on
the child in the garden.

"I've done all I can do," Jim said. "Don't punish me any more!"

Julia laughed in a worried fashion, not meeting his eyes.

"There you are," she said, faintly impatient, "assuming that I am
aggrieved about it, assuming that I am sitting back, sulking, and
waiting for you to humiliate yourself! My dear Jim, I'm not doing
anything of the kind. I don't hold you as wholly responsible for all
this--how could I? I know too well that I myself am--or was--to blame.
All these years, when people have been blaming you and pitying me, I've
longed to burst