The Nutmeg Tree Read Online Free PDF

that. Here, I didn’t mean to upset you!”
    For Julia was already weeping. No considerations of complexion had ever been able to restrain her tender heart, and the tears mingled with her rouge until Fred’s handkerchief was patched with pink. When at last she blew her nose she looked five years older, but Fred did not seem to mind. He put one arm about her shoulder and tried to dry her eyes himself.
    â€œNo,” sobbed Julia. “You go and see to Ma. I want to do my face.”
    He went at once—the perfect gentleman. Once alone, Julia’s tears rapidly ceased, leaving her only pleasantly purged by emotion, and she settled down to her vanity-box with a single mind. There is no doubt that she was enjoying the journey exceedingly: her grief, perfectly genuine while it lasted, was but an extra incident in a thoroughly interesting, variegated trip. She wouldn’t have missed it. Even the hasty renovation of her face was amusing to her, and she exchanged her more subdued (or Packett) lipstick for a new Kiss-proof in flamingo red. The effect was striking, but when Mr. Genocchio returned he did not appear to notice it.
    â€œI’m worried about Ma,” he said sombrely. “She’s still heaving.”
    Julia looked up with concern.
    â€œAnd what’s more, when she stops heaving, she’ll go to sleep. That fool Joe’s been filling her up with cognac like pouring it into a flask. If you ask me—” he flung himself down on the seat—“she’ll have to disappoint.”
    â€œWell, she’s not really part of the show, is she?” asked Julia, in an attempt to console. “I mean, it’s not like you dropping out.”
    â€œShe gave us a breather. You can do with a breather in our act. Besides—I know you wouldn’t think it to see her now—Ma’s good. She’s got a good smile, and a sort of way with her. Twinkle in her eye and so on. You’d be surprised the hand she gets.”
    â€œIt’s experience does it,” said Julia rather ambiguously. “Can’t you get someone at the theatre?”
    â€œWe might, but there’s not much time, and they hate anyone giving trouble. It’s no use worrying. If she’s all right she’s all right, and if she isn’t—”
    â€œIf she isn’t, I’ll have to help you out myself,” said Julia.
    The words were scarcely past her lips when she knew they were a mistake. There are occasions when one should refrain from well-doing, and this was one of them. When you are going to join your daughter—at any rate, when you are going to join such a daughter as Susan—you shouldn’t step aside into borrowed tights. But already Fred was grasping her hands in almost excessive gratitude, and from his fingers into hers ran a peculiar thrill. It was the thrill of theatrical excitement, the thrill of the-other-side-of-the-curtain, to which she had so long been a stranger, and which (as she now realized) she had so sorely missed. “Just this once!” Julia told herself. “Just this one last time, before I’m too old!”
    So it was that, instead of going on to the Gare du Lyon, Julia got out at the Gare du Nord.

Chapter 4
    1
    Standing on a chair before the inadequate dressing-room mirror, Julia took a good close-up look at her legs. It was so long since she had seen them in tights that she felt both curious and apprehensive—especially as the tights worn by Ma were definitely outsize. But if Mrs. Genocchio was stout, she was also short, and the material was very elastic. By judicious pulling-up Julia had achieved an adequate degree of tautness, and the reflection in the mirror now set her doubts at rest. Stilted on the two-inch heels of her own silver shoes, Julia’s legs rose strong and shapely to the silver loincloth; and if they weren’t quite in the mannequin class, they had nevertheless an appeal of their own.
    â€œMen