"You angel!" Jim said.
"Don't--make--me--cry--!" Julia begged thickly. A second later she
looked up and laughed through tears. "And I feel like a person who has
been skipped over four or five grades at school; I don't know whether I
_can_ be a rich man's wife!" she said whimsically. "I know I can go on as
I am, reading and thinking, and listening to other people, and keeping
quiet when I have nothing to say, but--but when I think of being Mrs.
James Studdiford--"
"Oh, I love to hear you say it!" Jim leaned across the table, and put
one warm big hand over hers. "My darling little wife!"
The word dyed Julia's cheeks crimson, and for the long hour that they
lingered over their tea she seemed to Jim more charming than he had ever
found her before. Her gravity, with its deep hint of suppressed mirth,
and her mirth that was always so delicate and demure, so shot with
sudden pathos and seriousness, were equally exquisite; and her beauty
won all eyes, from the old waiter who hovered over their happiness, to
the little baby in the street car who would sit in Julia's lap and
nowhere else. Jim presently left Julia to her Girls' Club, consoling
himself with the thought that on the following night they were to make
their first trip to the theatre together.
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