And drawing Julie to a chair, the little Duchess sat down beside her, holding her friend’s hands and studying her face.

“Tell me what’s been happening—­I believe you’ve been crying!  Oh, the old wretch!”

“You’re quite mistaken,” said Julie, smiling.  “Lady Henry says I may help you with the bazaar.”

“No!” The Duchess threw up her hands in amazement.  “How have you managed that?”

“By giving in.  But, Evelyn, I’m not coming.”

“Oh, Julie!” The Duchess threw herself back in her chair and fixed a pair of very blue and very reproachful eyes on Miss Le Breton.

“No, I’m not coming.  If I’m to stay here, even for a time, I mustn’t provoke her any more.  She says I may come, but she doesn’t mean it.”

“She couldn’t mean anything civil or agreeable.  How has she been behaving—­since Sunday?”

Julie looked uncertain.

“Oh, there is an armed truce.  I was made to have a fire in my bedroom last night.  And Hutton took the dogs out yesterday.”

The Duchess laughed.

“And there was quite a scene on Sunday?  You don’t tell me much about it in your letter.  But, Julie”—­her voice dropped to a whisper—­“was anything said about Jacob?”

Julie looked down.  A bitterness crept into her face.

“Yes.  I can’t forgive myself.  I was provoked into telling the truth.”

“You did!  Well?  I suppose Aunt Flora thought it was all your fault that he proposed, and an impertinence that you refused?”

“She was complimentary at the time,” said Julie, half smiling.  “But since—­No, I don’t feel that she is appeased.”

“Of course not.  Affronted, more likely.”

There was a silence.  The Duchess was looking at Julie, but her thoughts were far away.  And presently she broke out, with the etourderie that became her: 

“I wish I understood it myself, Julie.  I know you like him.”

“Immensely.  But—­we should fight!”

Miss Le Breton looked up with animation.

“Oh, that’s not a reason,” said the Duchess, rather annoyed.

“It’s the reason.  I don’t know—­there is something of iron in Mr. Delafield;” and Julie emphasized the words with a shrug which was almost a shiver.  “And as I’m not in love with him, I’m afraid of him.”

“That’s the best way of being in love,” cried the Duchess.  “And then, Julie”—­she paused, and at last added, naively, as she laid her little hands on her friend’s knee—­“haven’t you got any ambitions?”

“Plenty.  Oh, I should like very well to play the duchess, with you to instruct me,” said Julie, caressing the hands.  “But I must choose my duke.  And till the right one appears, I prefer my own wild ways.”

“Afraid of Jacob Delafield?  How odd!” said the Duchess, with her chin on her hands.

“It may be odd to you,” said Julie, with vivacity.  “In reality, it’s not in the least odd.  There’s the same quality in him that there is in Lady Henry—­something that beats you down,” she added, under her breath.  “There, that’s enough about Mr. Delafield—­quite enough.”