JULIA BRIDE
majestic. "Who then is the person in question for you—?"
"Why, such a dear thing, Julia—Mrs. David E. Drack. Have you heard of her?" he almost fluted.
New York was vast, and she had not had that advantage. "She's a widow?"
"Oh yes: she's not—!" He caught himself up in time. "She's a real one." It was as near as he came. But it was as if he had been looking at her now so pathetically hard. "Julia, she has millions."
Hard, at any rate—whether pathetic or not—was the look she gave him back. "Well, so has—or so will have—Basil French. And more of them than Mrs. Drack, I guess," Julia quavered.
"Oh, I know what they've got!" He took it from her—with the effect of a vague stir, in his long person, of unwelcome embarrassment. But was she going to give up because he was embarrassed? He should know at least what he was costing her. It came home to her own spirit more than ever; but
[ 32 ]
