She was presently mothering the baby, in the Kearneys’ little hot living-room, while Doctor Studdiford caused the patient in the room beyond to shout with pain.  The howling wind had a sinister sound, heard up here within walls, and Julia was glad to be out in it, and going down the hills again.

“Well, how do you like sick calls?” asked Jim.

“I was glad not to have to see him,” Julia confessed.  “But it is a darling baby, and such a nice little wife!  She has a sister who comes up every afternoon, so she can get some sleep, poor thing.  His mother is going to pay their rent until he gets well, and he gets two dollars a week from his union.  But she said that if you hadn’t—­”

“Well, you know now, for such a quiet little mouse of a girl, Julia, you are a pretty good confidence woman!”

“And the baby’s to be named for you!” Julia ended triumphantly.

“Lord, they needn’t have done that!” said the doctor, with his confused, boyish flush.  “Look, Julia, how the tide has carried that ferryboat out of her course!”

Julia’s heart flew with the winds; she felt as if she had never known such an hour of ecstasy before.  They had crossed the upper road, and were halfway down the last flight of steps, when Jim suddenly caught her hand, and turned her about to face him.  Dripping trees shut in this particular landing, and they were alone under the wind-swept sky.  Jim put his arms about her, and Julia raised her face, with all a child’s serene docility, for his kiss.

“Do you love me, Julie?” said Jim urgently, then.  “Do you love me, little girl?  Because I love you so much!”

Not the words he had so carefully chosen to say, but he said them a score of times.  If Julia answered, it was only with a confused murmur, but she clung to him, and her luminous eyes never moved from his own.

“Oh, my God, I love you so!” Jim said, finally releasing her, only to catch her in his arms again.  “Won’t you say it once, Julia, just to let me hear you?”

“But I did say it,” Julia said, dimpling and rosy.

“Oh, but darling, you don’t know how hungry I am to hear you!”

“How—­how could I help it?” Julia stammered; and now the blue eyes she raised were misty with tears.

Jim found this satisfactory, intoxicatingly so.  They went a few steps farther and sat on a bit of dry bulk-heading, and began to discuss the miracle.  About them the winds of spring shouted their eternal promise, and in their hearts the promise that is as new and as old as spring came to dazzling flower.

“My clever, sweet, little dignified girl!” said Jim.  “Julia, do you know that you are the most fascinating woman in the world?  I never saw any one like you!”

“I—­Oh, Jim!” was all that Julia said, but her dimples and the nearness of the blue eyes helped the stammered words.

“Among all the chattering, vapid girls I know,” pursued Jim, “you stand utterly alone, you with your ambitions, and your wiseness!  By George! when I think what you have made of yourself, I could get down and worship you.  I feel like a big spoiled kid beside you!  I’ve always had all the money I could spend, and you, you game little thing, you’ve grubbed and worked and made things do!”