"I don't want any gratitude," she said, abruptly, "from any one. Well, now, Evelyn, you understand about the bazaar? I wish I could, but I can't."
"Yes, I understand. Julie!" The Duchess rose impulsively, and threw herself into a chair beside the table where she could watch the face and movements of Mademoiselle Le Breton. "Julie, I want so much to talk to you--about business. You're not to be offended. Julie, if you leave Lady Henry, how will you manage?"
"How shall I live, you mean?" said Julie, smiling at the euphemism in which this little person, for whom existence had rained gold and flowers since her cradle, had enwrapped the hard facts of bread-and-butter--facts with which she was so little acquainted that she approached them with a certain delicate mystery.
"You must have some money, you know, Julie," said the Duchess, timidly, her upraised face and Paris hat well matched by the gay poinsettias, the delicate eucharis and arums with which the table was now covered.
"I shall earn some," said Julie, quietly.
"Oh, but, Julie, you can't be bothered with any other tiresome old lady!"
"No. I should keep my freedom. But Dr. Meredith has offered me work, and got me a promise of more."
The Duchess opened her eyes.
"Writing! Well, of course, we all know you can do anything you want to do. And you won't let anybody help you at all?"
"I won't let anybody give me money, if that's what you mean," said Julie, smiling. But it was a smile without accent, without gayety.