"Well"—Emeline glanced at her husband—"it's this way, Ju," said she: "Papa can't stand the city, sick as he is now—"
George coughed loosely in confirmation of this, and shook his head.
"And Papa's got a half interest in a little fruit ranch down in Santa Clara Valley," Emeline pursued. "So I'm going to take him down there for a little while, and nurse him back to real good health."
"My God, Em, you'll die!" Mrs. Tarbury said frankly. "Why'n't you go somewhere where there's something doing?"
"My sporting days are over, Min," George said with mournful satisfaction. "No more midnight suppers in mine!"
"Nor mine, either. I guess I'm old enough to settle down," Emeline added cheerfully. She and Mrs. Tarbury exchanged a look, and Julia knew exactly what concessions her mother had made before the reconciliation; knew just how sincere this unworldly wifely devotion was.
"Doc says I am to have fresh air, and light, nourishing foods, and quiet nights," George explained, gravely important.
"And what about Julie?" asked Mrs. Tarbury.
"Well, we thought we'd leave Julie here, Min," Emeline began comfortably, "until we see if it works. Then in, say, a month—"
"Mama, you can't!" Julia interrupted, cheeks hot with shame. "Aunt Min's got to rent that room—"