Perhaps I
don't make myself clear?"
"_You_! Julia!" Jim whispered, his hands still over his face.
"Yes, I know," Julia said drearily. "I don't seem like that sort of a
girl, I know."
Then there was a long silence.
"You--poor--little--kid!" Jim said, after a while, getting up and
beginning to walk the floor. "Oh, my God! My God! Poor little kid!"
"I suppose there are psychological moments when one wakes up to things,"
Julia went on, in a tone curiously impersonal. "I was in some
theatricals with your sister, years ago. Every one snubbed me, and no
wonder! There was a man named Carter Hazzard--and I suddenly seemed to
wake up at about that time--"
"Carter Hazzard!" The horror in Jim's voice rang through the room. Julia
frowned.
"I only saw him two or three times," she said. "No. But he flirted with
me, and flattered me, and then Barbara told me he was married, and then
I found out that they all thought I was vulgar and common--and so I was.
And I suppose I wanted to be loved and made much of, and he--this
man--was good to me!"
"Not you--of all women!" Jim said dully, as if to himself.
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