“Why, you two have been here alone?” Miss Toland asked, stirring her chocolate.

“No, we haven’t!” Julia answered cheerfully.  “I never thought of it before; but this dear old maid either has you here, or Janey, or Doctor Brice’s Mary from the village—­isn’t he queer?”

“It isn’t as if you weren’t practically brother and sister, Richie,” Miss Toland said moderately.  “Not too much butter, dear!” she interpolated, in reference to the toast her nephew was making, adding a moment later, “Still, I don’t know—­a pretty woman in your position can’t be too careful, Julia!”

“Oh, Lord, you’re an appreciative pair!” Richard said disgustedly, going out to the kitchen for more bread.

Presently Miss Toland complained of fatigue, and left them to the fire.  And sitting there, almost silent, Julia thought that she had never found her host so charming before.  His rambling discourse amused her, touched her; she loved his occasional shy introduction of a line of poetry, his eager snatching of a book now and then to illuminate some point with half a page of prose.

“Pleasant, isn’t this, Rich?” she asked lazily, in a quiet interval.

“Oh, pleasant!” He cleared his throat.  “Yes—­it’s very pleasant!”

“And why couldn’t you and I have done this just as well without Aunt Sanna?” Julia asked triumphantly.

Richard gave her a look full of all-dignified endurance, a look that wondered a little that she could like to give him pain.

“No reason at all,” said he.  And a sudden suspicion flamed in Julia’s heart with all the surety of an inspiration.

The revelation came in absolute completeness; she had never even suspected Richie’s little tragedy before.  For a few moments Julia sat stunned, then she said seriously: 

“I always feel myself so much Jim’s wife, Rich; I suppose it’s a sort of protection to me.  It never occurs to me that any one could think me less bound than I think myself.”

“Sure you do!” Richard said, struggling with the back log.  “But other people might not!  And it would be rotten to have him come back and hear anything.”

“I suppose he’ll come back,” Julia said, dreamily, almost in a whisper.  “I don’t think of it much, now!  I used to think of it a good deal at first; I used to cry all night long sometimes, and write him long letters that I never sent.  It seemed as if the longing for him was burning me up, like a fire!”

“Damn him!” Richard muttered.

“Oh, no, Richie, don’t say that!” Julia protested.  Richard, still on one knee, with the poker in his hand, turned to her almost roughly.

“For God’s sake, Julie, don’t defend him!  I’ll hold my tongue about him, I suppose, as I always have done, but don’t pretend he has any excuse for treating you this way!  You—­the best and sweetest and bravest woman that ever lived, bringing happiness and decency wherever you go—­”