“But, Ken, don’t you see how necessary you are to each other!” said Julia, kneeling before the chair in which her fat godson was seated, and displaying a number of gold chains and bracelets for his amusement.  “You have to take a turn at everything—­cooking and sewing and caring for old Sweetum here—­Anthony couldn’t get on without you!”

“And I suppose you think Doctor Studdiford could find twenty wives as pretty and clever and charming as you are, Ju?”

“Fifty!” Julia answered.

“Well, now, that just shows what a little idiot you are!” Mrs. Marbury scolded.  “Not but what most women feel that way sooner or later,” she added, less severely.  “I remember that phase very well, myself!  But the thing for you to do, Julie, is to remember that you’re exactly the same woman he fell in love with, d’you see?  Just mind your own affairs, and be happy and busy, and try not to fancy things!”

“What a sensible old thing you are, Ken!” said Julia gratefully.  And as Kennedy came over to stand near her, Julia gave her a little rub with her head, like an affectionate pony.  “I think it’s partly this hotel that’s demoralizing me,” Julia went on, a little shamed.  “I feel so useless—­getting up, eating, dressing, idling about, and going to bed again.  Jim has his work, and I’ll be glad when I have mine again!”

CHAPTER II

In these days, the Studdifords were househunting in all of Jim’s free hours; confining their efforts almost entirely to the city, although a trip to San Mateo or Ross Valley made a welcome change now and then.  It was not until late in October that the right house was found, on Pacific Avenue, almost at the end of the cable-car line.  It was a new house, large and square, built of dignified dark-red brick, and with a roomy and beautiful garden about it.  There was a street entrance, barred by an iron gate elaborately grilled, and giving upon three shallow brick steps that led to the heavily carved door.  On the side street was an entrance for the motor car and tradespeople, the slope of the hill giving room for a basement kitchen, with its accompanying storerooms and laundries.

Upstairs, the proportions of the rooms, and their exquisite finish, made the house prominent among the city’s beautiful homes.  Even Jim could find nothing to change.  The splendid dark simplicity of the drawing-room was in absolute harmony with the great main hall, and in charming contrast to the cheerful library and the sun-flooded morning-room.  The dining-room had its own big fireplace, with leather-cushioned ingle seats, and quaint, twinkling, bottle-paned windows above.  On the next floor the four big bedrooms, with their three baths and three dressing-rooms and countless closets, were all bright and sunny, with shining cream-coloured panelling, cretonne papers in gay designs of flowers and birds, and crystal door knobs.  Upstairs again were maids’ rooms, storerooms lined in cedar, and more baths.