"Three hundred a year," Mrs. Toland said discouragingly.
"And Keith gets fifty-five a month. That's eighty—h'm!" pursued Jim.
"Well, some of us simply will have to help them," suggested Mrs. Toland, with a swift, innocent glance at Miss Sanna.
"His father will have to help," Miss Toland countered firmly.
They presently adjourned to the dining-room, all still talking—even Julia—of Sally. Sally would have to take the Barnes cottage, at fifteen dollars a month, and do her own cooking, and her own sewing—
"They can dine here on Sundays," said Sally's mother, sniffing and wiping her eyes.
"And wouldn't it be awful if they had a baby!" Jane flung out casually.
Every one felt the indelicacy of this, except Julia, who relieved all Jane's hearers by saying warmly:
"Oh, don't say awful! Why, you'd all go wild over a dear little baby!"
Doctor Studdiford gave her a curious look at this, and though Julia did not see it, Barbara did. After dinner the doctor and Barbara played whist with the older ladies, and Julia sat looking over their shoulders for a few minutes, and then went upstairs with Constance and Jane for a long, delightful gossip. The girls must show her various pictures of Keith and Sally, books full of kodak prints, and everywhere Julia saw Jim, too: Jim from the days of little boyhood on to to-day, Jim as camp cook, Jim as tennis champion, Jim riding, yachting, fishing; a younger Jim, in the East at college, a small, stocky, unrecognizable Jim, in short trousers and straw hat. And everywhere, with him, Barbara.