Six weeks—­five weeks—­three weeks to the wedding, sang Julia’s heart; the time ran away.  She had dreaded having to meet Jim’s friends, and had dreaded some possible embarrassment from an unexpected move on the part of her own family, but the days fled by, and the miracle of their happiness only expanded and grew sweeter, like a great opening rose.  Their hours together, with so much to tell each other and so much to discuss, no matter how short the parting had been, were hours of exquisite delight.  And as Julia’s beauty and charm were praised on all sides, Jim beamed like a proud boy.  As for Julia, every day brought to her notice something new to admire in this wonderful lover of hers:  his scowl as he fixed his engine, the smile that always met hers, the instant soberness and attention with which he answered any question as to his work from the older doctor—­all this was delightful to her.  And when he took her to luncheon, his careless big fingers on the ready gold pieces and his easy nod to the waiter were not lost upon Julia.  She had loved him for himself, but it was additionally endearing to learn that other people loved him, too, to be stopped by elderly women who smiled and praised him, to have young people affectionately interested in his plans.

“You know you are nothing but a small boy, Jim,” Julia said one day, “just a sweet, happy kid!  You were a spoiled and pitied little boy, with your big eyes and your velvet suits and your patent leathers; you loved every one—­every one loved you; you had your allowance, you were born to be a surgeon, and chance made your guardian a doctor—­”

“I fell down on my exams,” Jim submitted meekly.  “And there was a fellow at college who said I bored him!”

“Oh, dearest,” Julia said, beginning to laugh at his rueful face, “and are those the worst things that ever happened to you?”

“About,” said Jim, enjoying the consolatory little kiss she gave him.

“And your youngness baffles me,” pursued Julia thoughtfully.  “You’re ten years older than I am, you’ve been able to do a thousand things I never did, you’re a rising young surgeon, and yet—­and yet sometimes there’s a sort of level—­level isn’t the word!—­a sort of positive youth about you that makes me feel eighty!  It’s just as if you had been born everything you are, ready made!  When you have to straighten a child’s hip, you push your hair back like a nice little kid, and say to yourself, ’Sure--I can do that!’ You seem as pleased and surprised as any one else when everything comes out right!”

“Well, gosh!  I never can put on any lugs!” said James, rumpling his hair in penitential enjoyment.

“I have to learn things so hard,” Julia mused, “they dig down right into the very soul of me—­”