"I know how you feel," Julia said without emotion, "because of course I
feel that way, too--now! And I never loved him, never even thought I
did! It was only a little while--two weeks or three, I guess--before I
told him I couldn't ever love him. I said I thought I might, but it was
like--like realizing that I had been throwing away gold pieces for
dimes. Do you know what I mean? And the most awful disgust came over me,
Jim--a sort of disappointment, that this talked-of and anticipated thing
was no more than that! And then I came here, and I knew that keeping
still about it was my only chance, and oh, how sick I was, soul and
body, for a fresh start! And then your aunt talked to me, and said what
a pity it is that young girls think of nothing but love and lovers, and
so throw away their best years, and I thought that I was done with love;
no more curiosity--no more thrill--and that I would do something with my
life after all!"
Her voice dropped, and again there was silence in the room. Jim
continued to pace the floor.
"Why, there's never been a morning at St. Anne's that I haven't looked
at those girls," Julia presently resumed, "and said to myself that I
might have been there, with my head shaved and a green check dress on!
Lots of them must be better than I!"
"Don't!" Jim said sharply, and there was a silence until Julia said
wonderingly:
"Isn't it funny that all last night, and the night before, I thought I
was going to _die_, telling you this--and now it just doesn't seem to
matter at all?"
"That's why you've never married?" Jim said, clearing his throat.
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