“Babbie!” Julia reproached her.

“And we talked about everything,” Barbara hastened to say.

“Me?” Julia asked flatly.

“A little,” Barbara admitted.  “I had nurse bring the boys in—­”

“Oh, Barbara, for God’s sake tell me!” Julia said, in an agonized burst.

“Oh, Julie—­if only I’m doing the right thing!” Barbara answered in distress.

“This is the right thing,” Julia assured her.  “This is my affair.”

“Francis and Mother—­” Barbara began again, hesitatingly.  But immediately she dismissed the doubts with a shake of her head, and suddenly assuming a confident air, she began:  “I’ll tell you exactly what happened, Ju.  Jim came one afternoon; I was all alone, and we had tea.  He’s very much changed, Ju.  He’s harder, in some way, and—­well, changed.  Jim never used to be able to conceal his feelings, you know, but now—­why, one feels that he’s dissembling all the time!  He was so friendly, and cheerful, and interested—­and yet—–­There was something all wrong.  He didn’t exactly evade the subject of you and Anna, but he just said ‘Yes?’ or ‘No?’ when I talked of you—–­”

“I know exactly how,” Julia said, wincing at some memory.

“I touched him on the quick finally,” Barbara pursued; “something I said about you made him colour up, that brick-red colour of his-—­”

“I know!” Julia said quickly again.

“But, Julia,” Barbara added earnestly, “you’ve no idea how hard it was!  I told him how grieved and troubled we all were by this silence between you, and I went and got that snapshot Rich took of Anna, you know, the one with the collies.  Well, way in the back of that picture you were snapped, too, the tiniest little figure, for you were way down by the road, and Anna close to the porch.  But, my dear, he hardly glanced at Anna; he said in a quick, hushed sort of voice, ‘What’s she in black for?’ Then I saw your picture for the first time, and said, ‘Why, that must be Julia!’ ‘Certainly, it’s Julia,’ he said.  I told him your grandmother had died, and he said, ‘But she’s still needed there, is she?’ That was the first sign of anything like naturalness.  And, oh, Ju, if only it had happened that Francis didn’t come in then!  But he did, starving for his tea, and wondering who on earth the man that I was sitting in the dark with was—­it was so unfortunate!  You know Francis thinks we’ve all spoiled Jim, always, and he looked right over him.  I said, ‘Francis, you remember my brother?’ and Francis said, with a really insulting accent, ‘Perfectly!’ Jim said something about liking London and hoping to settle there, and Francis said, ’Studdiford, I’m glad you’ve come to see my wife, and I hope the affection you two have felt for years won’t be hurt by what I say.  But I admire your own wife very deeply, and you’ve put her in a most equivocal and humiliating position.  I can’t pretend that I hope you’ll settle here; you’ve