"Tell me the news!" begged Julia. "How's The Alexander, Aunt Sanna--how is Miss Striker turning out?" "She's turned out," said Miss Toland grimly, her knitting needles flashing steadily. "She came to me with her charts and rules, and oh, she couldn't lie in bed after half-past six in the morning, and she couldn't put off the sewing class, and she would like to ask me not to eat my breakfast after nine o'clock! A girl who never cared what she ate--sardines and tea!--and she wouldn't come in with me to dinner at the Colonial because she was afraid they used coal tar and formaldehyde--ha! Finally she asked me if I wouldn't please keep the expenditures of the house and my own expenditures separate, and that was the _end_!" Jim's great laugh burst out, and Julia dimpled as she asked demurely: "What on _earth_ did you say?" "Say? I asked her if she knew I built The Alexander, and sent her packing! And now"--Miss Toland rubbed her nose with the gesture Julia knew so well--"now Miss Pierce is temporarily in charge, but she won't stay there nights, so the clubs are given up," she observed discontentedly. "And what's the news from Sally?" Julia pursued. "Just the loveliest in the world," Mrs. Toland said. "Keith is working like a little Trojan; and Sally sent us a perfectly charming description of the pension, and their walks--" "Yes, and how she couldn't go out because she hadn't shoes," Jane added, half in malice, half in fun. "_Don't_ look so shocked, Mother dear, you know it's true. And the landlady cheating them out of a whole week's board--" "Gracious me!" said Mrs. Toland, in a low undertone full of annoyance. "Did any one ever hear such nonsense! All that is past history now, Janey," she reminded her young daughter, in her usual hopeful voice. "Dad sent a cheque, like the dear, helpful daddy he is, and now everything's lovely again!" Julia did not ask for Ted until she saw Barbara alone for a moment the next day. It was about ten o'clock on a matchless autumn morning, and Julia, stepping from her bedroom's French window to the wide sunny porch that ran the width of the house, saw Barbara some forty feet away sitting just outside her own window, with a mass of hair spread to the sun. Julia joined her, dragged out a low, light chair from Barbara's room, and settled herself for a gossip. "Had breakfast?" Barbara smiled. "Jim downstairs?" "Oh, hours ago!" Julia said to the first question, and to the second, with the young wife's conscious blush, "Jim's dressing. He's the most impossible person to get started in the morning!" Barbara did not blush but she felt a little tug at her heart. "Come," she said, "I thought Jim had no faults?" "Well, he hasn't," Julia laughed. And then, a little confused by her own fervent tone, she changed the subject, and asked about Ted.