JULIA BRIDE
to whom the Frenches, in their fortress, had never been accessible, and his whole attitude bristled, to Julia's eyes, with the betrayal of her hand, her voice, her pressure, her calculation. His tone in fact, as he talked, fairly thrust these things into her face. "But you must see her for yourself. You'll judge her. You'll love her. My dear child"—he brought it all out, and if he spoke of children he might, in his candor, have been himself infantine—"my dear child, she's the person to do it for you. Make it over to her; but," he laughed, "of course see her first! Couldn't you," he wound up—for they were now near their gate, where she was to leave him—"couldn't you just simply make us meet him, at tea say, informally; just us alone, as pleasant old friends of whom you'd have so naturally and frankly spoken to him: and then see what we'd make of that?"
It was all in his expression; he couldn't keep it out of that, and his shining good looks couldn't: ah he was so fatally much too handsome for her! So the gap showed
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