“There must be some reason for it,” Barbara observed, “I suppose we were all spoiled as kids, with our dancing schools and our dresses from Paris, and so now when we want things we oughtn’t have, we just take ’em, from habit!  I remember a governess once, a nice enough little Danish woman, but Ned and I got together and decided we wouldn’t stand her, and Mother let her go.  It seems funny now.  Mother used to say that never in her life did she allow her children to want anything she could give them; but I’m not at all sure that’s a very wise ideal!”

“Nor I,” said Julia earnestly.  Barbara had parted and brushed her dark hair now, and as she gathered it back, the ruthless morning sunlight showed lines on her pretty face and faint circles about her eyes.

“Because life gets in and gives you whacks,” Barbara presently pursued, “you’re going to want a lot of things you can’t have before you get through, and it only makes it harder!  Sally’s paying for her jump in the dark, poor old Ned is condemned to Yolo City and Eva for the rest of his life, and somehow Ted’s the saddest of all—­so confident and noisy and rich, boasting about Bob’s affection, buying everything she sees—­and so young, somehow!  As for me,” said Barbara, “my only consolation is that nearly every family has one of me, and some have more—­a nice-looking, well-liked, well-dressed young woman, who has cost her parents an enormous amount of money, to get—­nowhere!”

“Why, Lady Babbie!” Julie protested.  “It’s not like you to talk so!”

Barbara patted the hand that had been laid upon her knee, and laughed.

“And the moral of that is, Ju,” she said, “if you have children, don’t spoil them!  You’ve had horribly hard times, but they’ve given you some sense.  As for Jim, he’s an exception.  It’s a miracle he wasn’t ruined—­but he wasn’t!” And she gathered up her towels and brushes to go back into her room.  “But I needn’t tell you that, Julie!” said she.

“Ah, well, Jim!” Julia conceded, smiling.

Jim had no faults, of course.  Yet the five-months wife sighed unconsciously as she went back to her room.  Jim had qualities that had now and then caused a faint little cloud to drift across Julia’s life, but that sheer loyalty had kept her from defining, even in her inmost heart.  Now this talk with Barbara had suddenly seemed to make them clear.  Jim was—­spoiled was too harsh a word.  But Jim wanted his own way, in little things and big—­all the time.  The world just now for Jim held only Julia.  What she wanted he wanted, and, at any cost, he would have.  If her gown was not right for the special occasion, she should have a new gown; if the motor car was out of order, telephone for another; if the steward assured them that there was not another table in the dining-room—­ tip him, tip everybody, make a scene, but see that the “Reserved” card comes off somebody’s table, and that the Studdifords are seated there in triumph.