interest in her life. But she tells me very little. She doesn't think me worthy."
"Ah, poor Julia!" Biddy murmured, defensively. Her tone recalled to him that Julia had thought him worthy to unite himself to Bridget Dormer, and inevitably betrayed that the girl was thinking of that also. While they both thought of it they sat looking into each other's eyes.
"Nick, I'm sure, doesn't treat you that way. I'm sure he confides in you; he talks to you about his occupations, his ambitions," Peter continued. "And you understand him, you enter into them, you are nice to him, you help him."
"Oh, Nick's life—it's very dear to me," said Biddy.
"That must be jolly for him."
"It makes me very happy."
Peter uttered a low, ambiguous groan; then he exclaimed, with irritation: "What the deuce is the matter with them then? Why can't they hit it off and be quiet and rational and do what every one wants them to do?"
"Oh, Peter, it's awfully complicated," said Biddy, with sagacity.
"Do you mean that Nick's in love with her?"
"In love with Julia?"
"No, no, with Miriam Rooth."
Biddy shook her head slowly; then with a smile which struck him as one of the sweetest things he had ever seen (it conveyed, at the expense of her own prospects, such a shy, generous little mercy of reassurance): "He isn't, Peter," she declared. "Julia thinks it's trifling—all that sort of thing," she added. "She wants him to go in for different honours."
