The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-02-18

| wrong. He didn't exactly evade the
 subject of you and Anna, but he just
 said Yes? or No?' when talked of l you"
 'I know exactly how" Julia said. | wincing at some memory
 T touched him on the quick final 1 ly, Barbara pursued. som ething | said about you made him colour up
 that brick-red colour of his-'' | "1 know!" Julia said quickly again. "But, Julia," Barbara added ear | nestly, you've no idea how hard it 1 was! I told him how grieved and
 troubled we all were by this silence | between you, and I went and got that l snapshot Rich took Of Anna, you
 know, the one with the collies. Well, I 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, Whats she in | black for?' Then I saw your picture for the first time, and said, eWhy. that | must be Ju1iai' Certainly, it's Julia,' he said. told him your grand ! mother 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 l 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 1 the dark with was-it was so unfor- | tunate! You know Francis thinks we've all spoiled Jim, always. and he looked right over him. I said. Fran cis, you remember my brother?' and
 Francis said, with a really insulting accent, Perfectly! Jim said some thing about liking London and hop
 ing to settle there, and Francis said,
 iStuddiford, 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 admire
 your own wife very deeply,and you've
 put her in a most equivocal and hu-
 initiating position. I can't pretend
 that I hope you'll settle here; you've
 caused the people who love you suf-
 ficient distress as it is. I don't see that your staying here is going to
 make anything any easier, while
 things are as they are in California;!
 My dear,'' said Barbara with a sigh,
 Francis gets that way sometimes; English people do-there seems to be a sort of moral obligation upon them to say whats true, no matter how outrageously rude it soundsi"
 q had no idea Captain Fox felt that way,' Juaia said, touched.
 "Oh. my dear! He's one of your warmest admirers. Well," Barbara went on. "of course Jim ruffIed up like a turkey cock. I didn't dare say anything, and Francis, having done his worst, was really pretty fair. Luckily, some other people came in, and later I went with Jim to the nursery. Then he said to me, Do you think Julia's position is equivocaI, Bab?' And said, Jim, I never kneN any one to care so little for public l opinion as Julia But all the ru- mour and gossip, the unexplained mystery of it, are very. very hard for her. I said. Jim, aren't you going | back?' and he said, Never Then he | said, T think Francis is right. This | way is neither one thing nor the other. It ought to be settled. Not he said, that I want to marry again!' | I said Jim, you couldn't marry | again, don't talk that way!' He said | something about my clinging to old | ideas, and I said, Jim, don't tell me you have given up your fafth?' He said, very airily, I'm not telling you anything, my dear girl, but if the law will set me free, perhaps that's the best way of silencing Francis re- marks about Julia's equivocal posi- tionI'"
 Julia was silent for a while. staring beyfnd Barbara, her eyes like those of a sick person, her face ashen. Barbara began to feel frightened.
 "So that's it, Julia said finally, in a tired, cold voice.
 "Ju-it's too dreadful to hurt you this way!" Barbara said. ''But that's not all. The only reason I told you all this was because Jim may be com ing home: he may come on in Octo- Der, and want to see you Francis l- A<N ,NT A- | let him come on and take you by sur prise"
 "Oh, my God!" said Julia. in low, tense tone, what utter wreck I nave made of my Hfei Why is it," she said springing up and beginning 10 walk again. ''wfy is it that am 50 helpless, why must I sit still and ct the soul be torn out of my body! My child must grow up fatherless- 1nder 8 cIoud-
 sJulie! Julie!" Barbara begged, wild with anxiety, as she kept pace beside Julia on the dry brown grass Dearest, don't, or you'll make me ,eel terribly for having told you!"
 "Oh, no-no," Julia said, suddenly ,a1m and weary. "You had to tell mel" The two walked slowly on for ! moment, in silence, than Julia add ed passionately: "Oh. what a watched, miserable business! Oh, Bab, why do simply have to go from one agony to another? I'm so tired of being unhappy; I'm so wretched!" Her voice fell, the fire went out of her tone. I'm tired" she said. in a voice that seemed to Barbara curious y in keeping with the flat, toneless summer twilight. the dull brown hills, he darkening sky. the dry slippery grass over which a cool swift breeze was beginning to wander. '1f Anna and~I could only run away from it aI1!" said Julia sombrely.
 Julie, just one thing Barbara 1esitated. Shall you see Jim %
 Julia passed, and their eyes met in he gloom Barbara thought she had never seen anything more marked -han the tragic intensity of the other face Julia might have been ! young pr1eStess the problems of the world on her shoulders