But
only once. After all, the laws were not of Jim's making; whatever he had
done, he was a respecter of convention, a keeper of the law of man.
Julia had broken God's law, had repented, and had been forgiven. But she
had also broken the law of man, for which no woman ever is forgiven. And
though this exquisite and finished woman, with her well-stored brain and
ripened mind, her position and her charm, was not the little Julia Page
of the old O'Farrell Street days, she must pay the price of that other
Julia's childish pride and ignorance still.
She must go on, listening, with her wise, wistful smile, to the chatter
of other women, wincing at a thousand little pricks that even her
husband could not see, winning him from his ugly moods with that mixture
of the child and the woman that his love never could resist.
His love! After all he did love her and his children, and she loved the
three with every fibre of heart and soul. Julia ended her reverie, as
she always ended her reveries, with a new glow of hope in her heart and
a half smile on her lips. Their love would save them all--love fulfilled
the law.
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