A cloud of flaxen hair descended round her in prompt reply; but the very pressure of those little soft arms only brought up more vividly than ever the terrible thought of what might have been the child's condition if—only if—Julia's strength had not sufficed to hold her up. Julia shuddered as she pressed her lips to the smooth cheek.
"Why, you are quite cold, I do declare; and I'm as hot as fire with kicking you," Mittie asserted, with childish frankness and exaggeration. "Is that why you're so pasty-coloured? If I had a letter I wouldn't keep it shut all this time."
Julia became conscious that she could "keep it shut" no longer, and her fingers broke open the closed envelope. As she read the sheet within, she drew one or two long breaths of relief, and a glow rose in her cheeks.
"He could not help it," she said.
"Couldn't help what? The delay?" asked Francesca. "Of course not. What man ever could, if he wished to stay away longer?"
"Francesca, you don't understand. He has not stayed for pleasure. He could not get away."
"Of course not," repeated Mrs. Trevor.
"His uncle is dead—suddenly."
"Julia!"
"Yes; early on Monday."