layer of mud under everything I do, making it a farce for me to talk of uplifting girls by settlement work, as people are eternally making me talk!  Or if only every one knew it, it would be easier, for then I would feel at least that I stood on my own feet!  But now, of course, that’s impossible, on Jim’s account.  What a horrible scandal it would be, what a horrible thing it is, that any girl can cloud her own life in this way!

“As for boys, I suppose mighty few of them are pure by the time they’re through college, by the time they’re through High School, perhaps!  It’s all queer, for that involves girls and women, too, thousands of them!  And how absurd it would be to bring such a charge as this against a man, ten years after it happened, when he was married and a respectable citizen!

“Well, society is very queer; civilization hasn’t got very far; sometimes I think virtue is a good deal of an accident, and that people take themselves pretty seriously!” And so musing, Julia dozed, and wakened, and dozed again.  But in her heart had been sowed the seed that was never to be uprooted, the little seed of doubt:  doubt of the social structure, doubt of its grave authorities, its awe-inspired interpreters.  What were the mummers all so busy about and how little their mummery mattered!  This shall be permitted, this shall not be permitted; what is in your heart and brain concerns us not at all; where your soul spends its solitudes is not our affair; so that you keep a certain surface smoothness, so that you dress and talk and spend as we bid you, you—­for such time as we please—­shall be one of us!

CHAPTER III

Nevertheless, the young Studdifords, upon their return to San Francisco, entered heartily upon the social joys of the hour.  Barbara had been only waiting their arrival to demurely announce her engagement, and Julia’s delight immediately took the form of dinners and theatre parties for the handsome Miss Toland and her fiance.  A new and softened sweetness marked Barbara in these days; she was more gentle and more charming than she had ever been before.  Captain Edward Francis Humphry Gunther Fox was an officer in the English army, a blond, silent man of forty, with kind eyes and a delightfully modulated voice.  He had a comfortable private income, a “place” in Oxfordshire, an uncle, young and healthy to be sure, but still a lord, and an older sister who had married a lord, so that his credentials were unexceptionable, and Mrs. Toland was nearly as happy as her daughter was.

“It’s curious,” said Barbara to Julia, in one of their first hours alone, “but there is a distinction and an excitement about getting engaged, and you enjoy it just as much at thirty as at twenty—­ perhaps more.  People—­or persons, as Francis says—­who have never paid me any attention before, are flocking to the front now with presents and good wishes, and some who never have seen Captain Fox congratulate me—­it amounts to congratulation—­as if any marriage were better than none!”