“Do you mean that there’s no chance of a reconciliation?” Jim asked huskily.  Julia gave him a glance of honest surprise.

“Jim,” she asked crisply, “do you mean that you came on with the hope of a reconciliation?  I thought you told Barbara something very different from that!”

“I don’t know what I came on for.  I wish Barbara would mind her own business,” said Jim, feeling himself at a disadvantage.

“My dear Jim,” Julia said with motherly kindness, “I know you so well!  You came on here determined to get a divorce, you want to be free, you may already have in mind some other woman!  But I’ve hurt your feelings by making it all easy for you—­by coming over to your side.  You wanted a fuss, tears, protests, a convulsion among your old friends.  And you find, instead, that all San Francisco takes the situation for granted, and that I do, too.  I’ve made my own life, I have Anna, and more than enough money to live on; you have your freedom; every one’s satisfied.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it!” Jim exclaimed angrily.  “There’s not one word of truth in it!” He began to pull on his gloves, a handsome figure in his irreproachable trim black sack suit with low oxfords showing a glimpse of gray hose, and an opal winking in his gray silk scarf.  “There’s absolutely no reason in the world why you should consider yourself as more or less than my wife,” he said.  “There’s no object in this sort of reckless talk.  We’ve been separated for a few years; it’s no one’s business but our own to know why!”

“Oh, Jim—­Jim!” Julia said, shaking her head.

“Don’t talk that way to me!” he said fiercely.  “I tell you I’m serious!  It’s all nonsense—­this talk of divorce!  Why,” he came so near, and spoke in so menacing a tone, that Julia perforce lifted her eyes to his, “this situation isn’t all of my making,” he said.  “I’ve not been ungenerous to you!  Can’t you be generous in your turn, and talk the whole thing over reasonably?”

“I can’t see the advantage of talking!” Julia answered in faint impatience.

“No, because you want it your own way,” said Jim.  “You expect me to give up my child completely, you refuse me even a hearing, you won’t discuss it!”

“But what do you want to discuss?” protested Julia.  “The whole situation is perfectly clear—­we shall only quarrel!”

How well she knew the look he gave her, the hurt look of one whose sentiment is dashed by cool reason!  He suddenly caught her by the shoulders.

“Look here, Julia!”

“Ah, Jim, please don’t!” She twisted in a vain attempt to escape his grip.

“Please don’t what?”

“Don’t—­touch me!”

Jim dropped his hands at once, stepped back, with a look of one mortally hurt.

“Certainly not—­I beg your pardon!” he said punctiliously.  He took up his hat.  “When do I see you again, Julia?  Will you dine with me to-morrow?  Then we can talk.”