"I wish I had never mentioned Jim," Barbara said heartily. "It's none of my business, anyway, only--only--it makes me so unhappy I just can't bear it! I simply can't bear it!" And to Julia's astonishment, Barbara, who rarely showed emotion, fumbled for her handkerchief and began to cry. "I love Jim," pursued Barbara, with that refreshed vehemence that follows a brief interval of tears. "And you're just as dear to me as my own sisters--dearer! And I can't _bear_ to have you and that _darling_ baby here alone, and Jim off in trailing around after a little _fool_ like Ivy Chancellor! I can't bear it," said Barbara, drying her eyes, which threatened to overflow again. "It's monstrous! You're--you're wonderful, of course, Julie, but you can't make me think you're happy! And Jim is _wretched_. I've known him since I was a baby, and he can't fool _me_! He can bluff about his work and his club and all that as long as he pleases! But he can't fool _me_; I know he's utterly miserable." "And you saw him?" Julia asked. They were in a little strip of woods just above Richard's cabin now, and Julia seated herself on the low-hanging branch of an oak. Her face, as she turned to Barbara, was full of resolute command. "Sit down, Bab," she said, indicating a thick fallen log a few feet away. "Tell me all about it." "Francis would strangle me," Barbara murmured, seating herself nevertheless. "And there isn't very much to it, anyway," she added, with a bright air of candour. "I wrote Jim a line, and he came to our house in Ludbroke Road, and we had a little talk. He's fatter. He was awfully interested in some knee-cap operation--" "Babbie!" Julia reproached her. "And we talked about everything," Barbara hastened to say. "Me?" Julia asked flatly. "A little," Barbara admitted. "I had nurse bring the boys in--" "Oh, Barbara, for God's sake tell me!" Julia said, in an agonized burst. "Oh, Julie--if only I'm doing the right thing!" Barbara answered in distress. "This _is_ the right thing," Julia assured her. "This is my affair." "Francis and Mother--" Barbara began again, hesitatingly. But immediately she dismissed the doubts with a shake of her head, and suddenly assuming a confident air, she began: "I'll tell you exactly what happened, Ju. Jim came one afternoon; I was all alone, and we had tea. He's very much changed, Ju. He's harder, in some way, and--well, changed. Jim never used to be able to conceal his feelings, you know, but now--why, one feels that he's dissembling all the time! He was so friendly, and cheerful, and interested--and yet--There was something all wrong. He didn't exactly _evade_ the subject of you and Anna, but he just said 'Yes?' or 'No?' when I talked of you--" "I know exactly how," Julia said, wincing at some memory. "I touched him on the quick finally," Barbara pursued; "something I said about you made him colour up, that brick-red colour of his--" "I know!" Julia said quickly again.