"I don't know," Julia said, hardly above a whisper.
"Anything wrong?" Miss Toland asked, instantly alert.
"No, I don't suppose so!" Julia said, trying to laugh. "But—but I hate him to just send a letter when I expected him!" she added childishly.
She picked it up, and began slowly to read it. Miss Toland, watching her, saw the muscles of her face harden, and her eyes turn to steel. The blood rushed to her face, and then receded quickly. She read to the last word, and then looked up to meet the other woman's eyes.
"What is it?" Miss Toland demanded, aghast at Julia's look.
"It's Jim," said Julia. Her face was blazing again, and she seemed to be choking. "He's going to Europe," she went on, in a bewildered tone, "he's not coming back."
"What!" said Miss Toland sharply. "D'you mean to tell me he's simply walked off—"
Julia's colour was ghastly; her eyes looked sick and heavy.
"No, no, he can't mean that!" she said quickly. She crushed the pages of the letter together convulsively. "I can't—" she began, and stopped. Suddenly she rose to her feet, muttered something about coming back, and was gone.
She ran up to her room, and alone there, it seemed for a few moments as if she must suffocate. She put the letter on her desk, where its folded sheets instantly looked hideously familiar. She went into the bathroom, and found herself holding her fingers under the hot-water tap, vaguely waiting for hot water. Like a hunted creature she went through the luxurious rooms, the mortal wound in her heart widening every instant; finally she came back to her desk, and sat down, and read the letter again.