"Because I love you so, Jim," she faltered, trying to smile. "You don't
know how much!" Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and for a moment her
eyes looked far beyond him, down into the valley, and at the iron-cold
bay with its racing whitecaps. Then she took his hand, and they began to
descend the steps.
"I may tell my mother, Julie?" Jim asked joyously. "And Aunt Sanna? And
do you know that Julia is one of my favourite names--"
"No, I want you not to tell any one," Julia decided quickly. "You must
promise me that. Nobody." Something in her tone surprised, a little
chilled, him.
"Julie--but why?"
"Well, because we want to be _sure_--"
"Oh, sure! Why, but, dearest, _aren't_ you--"
"No, but wait a moment," Julia interrupted, and Jim, turning toward her,
saw a real trouble reflected in her face. "I want you to meet my mother,
and my own people," she said, scarlet cheeked. Jim's grave,
comprehensive look met hers.
"And I want to, dear," he said. And then, as her face did not brighten:
"Why, my dearest, you aren't going to worry because your people aren't
in the Social Register, and don't go to the Brownings'? I know all sorts
of people, Ju--Kearney, up there, is a good friend of mine! And I know
from Aunt Sanna that you're a long way ahead of your own people.
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