“Poor Marian!” Julie cried. “Why, I’d like to know? Hasn’t she got what she wanted?”
“No. Because she doesn’t know what she wants,” Stacey returned slowly. “She wants so many different conflicting things, and she doesn’t know what any of them are. Marian’s wretched.”
But Julie’s eyes were cold. “Anyhow, you’ve been away this winter, so you don’t know all that I do about Marian. I’m afraid she’s a bad lot.”
Stacey winced. “No,” he replied, though kindly enough, “you’re not afraid of that, Julie. You’d rather have it so.”
His sister rose quickly and came over to sit beside him on the davenport. “Yes,” she admitted contritely, “that was nasty of me. But I can’t like Marian. I never could.” She gazed at her brother timidly. “Stace,” she said, her face flushing, “are you—are you still in love with Marian?” She appeared rather frightened at her own daring.
“No,” he replied simply, looking straight into his sister’s eyes. “No. Not any more. Not the least bit.”
Julie drew a deep breath. “Then you may be as sorry for her as you like,” she said happily.
The rest of their talk was matter-of-fact and trivial enough. But when Stacey got up to go Julie accompanied him to the door. She seemed all at once a little uneasy.
“Stacey,” she remarked, not looking at him and playing with a button of his coat, “please don’t think from—anything I said—that I’m not—decently happy. I am; of course I am. It sounds ungrateful. No one could be sweeter than Jimmy; and then there’s Junior. I—”
Her brother laughed. “Don’t be a silly, Jule!” he interrupted. “I understood perfectly well what you meant. That, in spite of everything, you did have some thwarted desires. So has Jimmy, no doubt. So has every one. It’s just as well, I dare say. There’s been less thwarting than normally going on these last few years—the lid’s been lifted a little—and look at the hellish mess! Good-bye. Thanks a lot. I had a lovely time.”