“There!” he said, freeing her, a laugh of triumph in his voice.  “Now you belong to me!  That’s the kind of a man that’s in love with you, my girl, and don’t you think for one instant that you can play fast and loose with him!”

Julia sat still for a long time after the street door banged, staring straight ahead of her.  She was going for this week-end to the little house the Scotts had been loaned in Belvedere for the season, and she dressed and packed her suitcase very soberly.  Miss Toland went with her to the ferry, both glad to get the fresh breath of the water, and Julia had a riotous dinner with the Scotts, and a wonderful evening drifting about in their punt between the stars in the low summer sky and the stars in the bay.  When they were in their porch beds she told Kennedy all about Mark, and Kennedy commented that he certainly was a gratifyingly ardent admirer.

“Ardent?  I should think so!” sighed Julia, and went to sleep, not ill-pleased with her role of the inaccessible lady.  But the fact that Mark’s persistence could not be discouraged fretted her a good deal.  He rarely gave her a chance for a definite snub; if she was ungracious, his humble patience waited tirelessly upon her mood; and if she smiled, he showed such wistful delight that even Julia’s cool little heart was stirred.  That he never stirred her in any deeper way, that his kisses did not warm her, was not a serious trouble to Mark.  She would be all the sweeter to win; he would wake her in his arms to the knowledge that she loved him!  And Julia won, as his little wife, would be dearer even than the demure and inaccessible Julia of to-day.  Mark fed his hungry heart on love tales; many a man had won a harder fight than his; these cold, shy girls made the best wives in the world!

Julia began seriously to consider the marriage.  She visioned a safe and pleasant life, if no very thrilling one.  Mark was handsome, devoted, he was making money, he would be faithful to his wife and adore his children.  Julia would have no social position, of course.  She sighed.  She would be a comfortable little complacent wife among a thousand others.  She would have her silk gowns, her cut glass; she could afford an outing at Pacific Grove with the children; some day she and Mark would go to New York—­

No, not she and Mark!  She couldn’t; she didn’t love him enough to sit opposite him all the mornings of her life, to sell her glowing dreams for him!  She had come so far from the days that united her childhood with all the Rosenthals—­she had not seen Mrs. Tarbury, nor Rose, nor Connie for years.  She was climbing, climbing, away from all those old associations.  And she could climb faster alone!

CHAPTER VII