"Better have your place by the window back again, Miss Thurnbrein," the girl at her side said suddenly. "You're looking like Clara, just before she popped off. My, ain't it awful!"
Julia came back to herself and refused the child's offer.
"I shall be all right directly," she declared. "This weather can't last much longer."
"If only the storm would come!" the child muttered, as she turned back to her work.
If only the storm would come! Julia seemed to take these words with her as she passed at last into the streets, at the stroke of the hour. It was like that with her, too. There was something inside, something around her heart, which was robbing her of her rest, haunting her through the long, lonely nights, torturing her through these miserable days. Soon she would have to turn and face it. She shivered with fear at the thought.
In the street a man accosted her. She looked up with an almost guilty start. A little cry broke from her lips. It was one of disappointment, and Graveling's unpleasant lips were twisted into a sneer as he raised his cap.
"Thought it was some one else, eh?" he remarked. "Well, it isn't, you see; it's me. There's no one else with a mind to come down here this baking afternoon to fetch you."
"I thought it might be Aaron," she faltered.
"Never mind whom you thought it might have been," he answered gruffly.
"Aaron's busy, I expect, typing letters to all the lords and ladies your
Mr. Maraton hobnobs with. I'm here, and I want to talk with you."
"I am too tired," she pleaded. "I am going straight home to lie down."