She went in to criticise and retouch her mother's painstaking
arrangements. She grew flushed and irritated over the cooking.

"_And_ a good cook," she added. "What dreams!"

Julia looked a good deal at Marie during dinner in the delusive light
of the shaded candles, and at last she said:

"You're thinner. And there's something about you--I don't know what it
is. You are almost fragile."

"I manage this flat entirely without help, you know," said Marie,
looking round the speckless dining-room proudly.

"_That_ ought not to do it," replied Julia, dismissing domestic
work with a contemptuous wave of the hand. "Are you worrying?"

"Worrying?" Marie repeated. "What about?"

"Oh, anything."

"I have nothing to worry over."

"Blessed woman!" replied Julia, diving into the freak pocket of an
expensive garment bought with her own money. "May I begin to smoke?"

"Let me get cigarettes," said Marie, springing up for Osborn's box,
which lay on the mantelpiece behind her.