“Noble!” she cried.  “Don’t be so glum!” And she touched his arm with her muff, a fluffy contact causing within him a short convulsion, naturally invisible.  “Noble, aren’t you going to tell me what’s all the news?”

“There’s—­some,” he managed to inform her.  “Some—­some news.”

“What is it?”

“It’s—­it’s——­”

“Never mind,” she said soothingly.  “Get your breath; I can wait.  I hope nothing’s wrong in your family, Noble.”

“No.  Oh, no.”

“It isn’t just my turning up unexpectedly that’s upset you so, of course,” she dared to say.  “Naturally, I know better than to think such a thing as that.”

“Oh, Julia!” he said.  “Oh, Julia!”

“What is it, Noble?”

“Noth-ing,” he murmured, disjointing the word.

“How odd you happened to be there at the station,” she said, “just when my train came in!  You’re sure you weren’t going away anywhere?”

“No; oh, no.”

She was thoughtful, then laughed confidentially.  “You’re the only person in town that knows I’m home, Noble.”

“I’m glad,” he said humbly.

She laughed again.  “I came all of a sudden—­on an impulse.  It’s a little idiotic.  I’ll tell you all about it, Noble.  You see, ten or twelve days ago I wrote the family a more or less indiscreet letter.  That is, I told them something I wanted them to be discreet about, and, of course, when I got to thinking it over, I knew they wouldn’t.  You see, I wrote them something I wanted them to keep a secret, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw I’d better hurry back.  Yesterday it got into my head that I’d better jump on the next train for home!”

She paused, then added, “So I did!  About ten or twelve days is as long as anybody has a right to expect the Atwater family connection to keep the deadliest kind of a secret, isn’t it?” And as he did not respond, she explained, modestly, “Of course, it wasn’t a very deadly secret; it was really about something of only the least importance.”

The jar of this understatement restored Noble’s voice to a sudden and startling loudness. “’Only the least importance’!” he shouted.  “With a man named Crum!”

“What!” she cried

“Crum!” Noble insisted.  “That’s exactly what it said his name was!”

“What said his name was?”

“The North End Daily Oriole!”

“What in heaven’s name is that?”

“It’s the children’s paper, Herbert’s and Florence’s:  your own niece and nephew, Julia!  You don’t mean you deny it, do you, Julia?”

She was in great confusion:  “Do I deny what?”

“That his name’s Crum!” Noble said passionately.  “That his name’s Crum and that he’s a widower and he’s been divorced and’s got nobody knows how many children!”

Julia sought to collect herself.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.  “If you mean that I happened to meet a very charming man while I was away, and that his name happened to be Crum, I don’t know why I should go to the trouble of denying it.  But if Mr. Crum has had the experiences you say he has, it is certainly news to me!  I think someone told me he was only twenty-six years old.  He looked rather younger.”