Julia had anticipated this settling as preceding a time of quiet, when she and Jim should loiter over their snug little dinners, should come to know the comforts of their own chairs, at each side of the library fire, and laugh and cry over some old book, or talk and dream while they stared into the coals.  The months were racing about to her first wedding anniversary, yet she felt that she really knew Jim only in a certain superficial, holiday sense—­she knew what cocktail he liked best, of course, and what seats in the theatre; she was quite sure of the effect of her own beauty upon him.  But she longed for the real Jim, the soul that was hidden somewhere under his gay mask, under the trim, cleanshaven, smiling face.  When there was less confusion, less laughing and interrupting and going about, then she would find her husband, Julia thought, and they would have long silent hours together in which to build the foundation of their life.

Her beautiful earnest face came to have a somewhat strained and wistful look, as the weeks fled past without bringing the quiet, empty time for which she longed.  All about her now stretched the glittering spokes of the city’s great social wheel, every mail brought her a flood of notes, every quarter hour summoned her to the telephone, every fraction of the day had its appointed pleasure.  Julia must swiftly eliminate from her life much of the rich feminine tradition of housewifery; it was not for her to darn her husband’s hose, to set exquisite patches in thinning table linen, to gather flowers for jars and vases.  Julia never saw Jim’s clothing except when he was wearing it, the table linen was Ellie’s affair, and Lizzie had the entire lower floor bright and fragrant with fresh flowers before Jim and Julia came down to breakfast.  Young Mrs. Studdiford found herself readily assuming the society woman’s dry, brief mannerisms.  Jim used to grin sometimes when he heard her at the telephone: 

“Oh, that would be charming, Mrs. Babcock,” Julia would say, “if you’ll let me run away at three, for I must positively keep an appointment with Carroll at three, if I’m to have my gown for dear Mrs. Morton’s bal masque Friday night.  And if I’m just a tiny bit late you won’t be cross?  For we all do German at twelve now, you know, and it will run over the hour!  Oh, you’re very sweet!  Oh, no, Mrs. Talcott spoke to me about it, but we can’t—­we’re both so sorry, but this week seems to be just full—­no, she said that, but I told her that next week was just as bad, so she’s to let me know about the week after.  Oh, I know she is.  And I did want to give her a little tea, but there doesn’t seem to be a moment!  I think perhaps I’ll ask Mrs. Castle to let us dine with her some other time, and give Betty a little dinner Monday—­”

And so on and on, in the quick harassed voice of one who must meet obligations.

“You’re a great social success, Ju,” Jim said, smiling, one morning.