born was in her hands; thrown upon her mercy; a beggar for just so
much as she cared to give. He answered:

"Who cares about wisdom? It's the only thing worth doing, anyway."

Roselle began pulling her fur coat up over her arms; it was past ten
o'clock; and on Sundays she went to bed early, to counteract as far as
might be the results of all the late nights during the week.

"Take me home," she demanded.

In the taxicab Osborn took her into his arms and began whispering to
her things to which she did not listen; had he only known it, she was
extremely sleepy from the effects of all the fresh air during the day,
but triumphantly he took her inertia for the surrender for which he
had, so suddenly, craved.

He was begging for that promise about Paris, but she would not give
it. A month? What an age it was--any good thing might happen.

She would not let him come into the flat. "I'm too sleepy," she
declared. She stood before him on the inner side of her threshold,
with a faint smile on her face that was as pale as magnolia flowers,
and her eyelids drooping heavily; she put out a lazy hand against his
chest and warded off his entry. When she sent him away, he felt on
fire, from the last look of her, thus.

CHAPTER XXVI

COMPREHENSION

When Marie had waved to her husband a stereotyped good-bye, and had
kissed schoolboy George a warm one, on Monday morning, when leisurely
quiet had come again to the flat, and as she still lingered over her
newspaper, the door bell rang and Mrs. Desmond Rokeby was admitted.

Julia--fresh, heavenly, without a frown, without a care, without a
regret--blew into Number Thirty like a Christmas rose and clasped
Marie in a glad embrace.

"It's early; it's shockingly early, but I came up with Desmond this
morning and knowing your habits--you _do_ still wheel your own
perambulator on the Heath, don't you, at eleven-thirty?--I rushed here
first."

"How splendid you look!"

"I feel splendid!" The two women stood at arm's length, eyeing each
other inquisitively and frankly, and Julia's ingenuous blush was the
reflection of a divine dawn.

She sat down, put her feet on the fender, loosened her furs.

"I may stay and talk?"

"May you _not_! Oh! I'm glad to see you--it seemed as if your
honeymoon was going to last for ever."

"It's not over."

"That's what we all say."

"Don't be cynical, dear," said the new Julia.

Marie waved this away with a brief laugh. "I want all your