“My dear girl, do you think for one second I doubt you!” Jim said uncomfortably.  “You’ve been perfectly wonderful to do it, only you must have scrimped yourself!  But it wasn’t about that.  Surely, Julia, you and I have things more important to say to each other,” he added reproachfully.

“I don’t know what’s more important than money,” she assured him whimsically.  “Of course I didn’t want to use it at all; I should have preferred to be self-supporting at any cost,” she went on.  “But there was Anna and Mama to consider.  And more than that, there was your name, Jim; I didn’t want to start every one talking of the straits to which your wife had been reduced.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jim growled.  “Don’t let’s talk of money.”  “That was all I meant to say,” Julia said politely.  “Is Mother lying down?” she added naturally.  Jim jerked his whole body impatiently.

“I think she is!” he snapped.  Julia opened a letter.

“Isn’t that a pretty hand?” she asked.  “English—­it’s Mrs. Lawrence, the Consul’s wife.  What pretty hands English people write!”

“You’ve changed very much,” Jim observed, after a sulphurous silence.

“I have?” Julia asked naively.  “In what way?”

“Why didn’t you want to see me?”

“Oh—–­” Julia laid the letter down, and for the first time gave him her full attention.  “I’ve changed my mind about that, Jim,” she said frankly.  “I thought at first that it was an unwise thing, but I feel differently now.  Of course you know,” continued Julia, with pretty childish gravity, “that for me there can be no consideration of divorce; I shall never be any other man’s wife, and never be free.  But if, as Bab says, you have come to feel that you want something different, and if you have drifted so far from your religion as to feel that a legal document can undo what was solemnly done in the name of God, why then I shan’t oppose it.  You can call it desertion or incompatibility, I don’t care.”

“Who said I wanted a divorce?” Jim demanded, in his ugliest tone.  His face was a dull, heavy red, and veins swelled on his forehead.

“My life is full and happy,” Julia pursued contentedly, paying no attention to his question.  “I’m not very exacting, as you know.  Mama needs me, and I have everything I want.”

“You talk very easily of divorce,” Jim said, in an injured tone, after a pause.  “But is it fair to have it all arranged before I say a word?”

Julia’s answer was only a look—­a full, clear, level look that scorched him like a flame; her cheeks above the black of her gown burned scarlet; she was growing angry.

Jim played with an empty envelope for a few minutes, fitting a ringer tip to each corner and lifting it stiffly.  Presently he dropped it, folded his arms, and rested them on the table.

“This is a serious matter,” he said gravely.  “And we must think about it.  But you must forgive me for saying that it is a great shock to come home and find you talking that way, Julie.  I—­God knows I’m bad enough, but I don’t think I deserve quite this!” added Jim gently.