A long silence, then Jim stood up.

“Well, I’ve made an utter mess of it, as I began by saying!” he said, with a grim laugh.  “Going to dine here, Rich?  Let’s eat together.  Here”—­one big clever hand gave Richard just the help he needed—­“let me help you, old boy!”

“I thought I’d go home to Mill Valley,” Richard said.  “I can’t catch anything before the six-forty, but the horse is in the village, and my boy will scare me up some soup and a salad.  I’d rather go.  I like to wake in my own place.”

“I wish you’d let me go with you, Rich,” Jim said, with a gentleness new to him.  “I’m so sick of everything.  I can’t think of anything I’d like so well.”

“Sure, come along,” Richard said, touched.  “Everything’s pretty simple, you know, but I’ll telephone Bruce and have him—–­”

“Cut out the telephoning,” Jim interrupted.  “Bread and coffee’ll do.  And a fire, huh?”

“Sure,” Richard said again, “there’s always a fire.”

“Great!” Jim approved.  “We can smoke, and talk about—–­”

“About Ju,” Richie supplied, with a gruff little laugh, as he paused.

“About Ju,” Jim repeated, with a long sigh.

Two days later he went to see her, to beg her to be his wife again.  He asked her to forget and forgive the past, to trust him once more, to give him another chance to make her happy.  He spoke of the Harley Street house, of the new friends she would find, of Barbara’s nearness with the boys that Julia loved so well.  He spoke of Anna; for Anna’s sake they must be together; their little girl must not be sacrificed.  Anna should have the prettiest nursery in London, and in summer they would go down to Barbara, and the cousins should play together.

Julia listened attentively, her head a little on one side, her eyes following the movements of Anna herself, who was digging about under the rose bushes in the backyard.  Julia and Jim sat on the steps that ran down from the kitchen porch.  It was a soft, hazy afternoon, with filmy streaks of white crossing the pale blue sky, and sunshine, thin and golden, lying like a spell over Julia’s garden.

“I was a fool,” said Jim.  “There—­I can’t say more than that, Ju.  And I’ve paid for my folly.  And, dearest, I’m so bitterly sorry!  I can’t explain it.  I don’t understand it myself—­I only know that I’d give ten years off the end of my life to have the past five to live over again.  Forgive me, Ju.  It’s all gone out of my heart now, all that old misery, and I never could hurt you again on that score.  It doesn’t exist, any more, for me.  Say that you’ll forgive me, and let me be the happiest and proudest man in the world—­how happy and proud—­taking my wife and baby to England!”

The hint of a frown wrinkled Julia’s forehead, her eyes were sombre with her own thoughts.

“Think what it would mean to Mother, and to Bab, and to all of us,” Jim pursued, as she did not speak.  “They’ve been so worried about it—­they care so much!”