"Oh, but this is different; you have the chance of influencing these girls, and really it is your duty, when you consider the servant question--" and so _ad infinitum_; and, indeed, others of Julia's friends would continue the discussion. Usually Julia turned all criticism aside with a smiling and indefinite reply, although at times she would say, "Ah, I hope that I shall always be found ready to do what is best for each girl." Casual criticisms like this from those who did not really understand her aim did not greatly disturb Julia. They were more than balanced by the cordial appreciation of her aunt and Mrs. Gostar, and others who knew what she was really striving for. Then at intervals--though rather long intervals--she had a cheering word or two from Ruth, who, in spite of being on a protracted wedding tour in extremely interesting countries, evidently kept her thoughts constantly in touch with her Boston friends. "Of course I mean to be part of your experiment when I return home, and I mean to work like a Trojan to make up for my absence this year. Also, as I have written you before, I am collecting all kinds of weird receipts that I mean to have your poor little victims--for I am sure they call themselves victims--fed on next season." One afternoon, after a rather hard morning in which everything had happened just as it should not, Julia heard a tap at her study door. When she answered it Angelina ushered in--but no, Angelina had nothing to do with it--a flying figure flung itself upon Julia, and before its arms had been removed from her neck she recognized the soft accents of Polly Porson. "It seems like I hadn't seen you for a century, although now that I do see you, you look as natural as life, and not a bit as if you were weighed down by the care of a hundred girls, such as I hear you have taken under your wing." "Not a quarter nor an eighth of a hundred; but where in the world have you dropped from, Polly Porson? Have you come North, as you used to threaten, to buy a trousseau, or is your novel ready to offer to a publisher?" At which confusing double question the usually nonchalant Polly blushed so exceedingly that Julia knew which part of the question had been answered. "Who is he?" she asked so pointedly, that Polly, nothing loath, sat down to tell the story. She had sprained her ankle, it seemed, early in the autumn. "Why, I am sure I wrote you about it," she added, when Julia expressed her surprise, "and I'm sure that I told you about the doctor; didn't I say a great deal about him?" "Well, perhaps you did, but I was so unsuspicious that I did not attach much importance to what you said, or I thought what you wrote was in mere appreciation for his skill. Besides, I begin to remember that you told me that he was a cousin, and one whom you especially disliked, though you believed that he had saved you from being permanently lame."