The Nutmeg Tree Read Online Free PDF Page B

don’t care for toothpicks, anyway,” said Julia complacently.
    With some precaution, on account of her heels, she got down from the chair and took her upper half in turn. It was lightly covered by a sort of bathing-dress top, black like the tights, and a silver bolero. A headdress composed of black ostrich feathers, springing from a silver tiara, completed the costume; and whoever designed it (thought Julia) must have had a great deal of taste.
    There was a rap at the door; she sprang away from the mirror and took up a nonchalant pose in a good light.
    â€œIt’s me: Fred,” called Mr. Genocchio.
    â€œCome in!” called Julia.
    Her heart was suddenly beating fast. Suppose he didn’t like her? Suppose he thought her too … plump? With passionate repudiation she cast a backward glance over all the French pastries she had ever eaten. Why had she eaten them, when she always knew they’d be her ruin? On one occasion, to amuse Mr. Macdermot, she had consumed four éclairs running.… “He ought to have been ashamed!” she thought bitterly; and if her agitation seems excessive, it must be remembered that Julia lived ever for the moment, and that this moment was wholly Fred’s.
    She need not have feared, however. Fred’s face, as he stood in the doorway, was positively goopish with admiration.
    â€œYou’re wonderful,” he said at last.
    â€œSo are you,” said Julia earnestly.
    For no photograph could do him justice. A photograph could give only the sheen of his black tights, not the play of muscles beneath; only the statuesque beauty of poise, not the fluid beauty of movement. Fred walked across the room like a black panther; and as she gazed in admiration Julia all unwittingly acquired something she had long coveted. She acquired a scrap of culture, and if she did not recognize it as such, that was because what one looks for among Good Books one does not expect to find in the dressing-room of a music-hall. But so it happened: having filled her eyes with a best in its kind, Julia could not then turn them on a second-best without knowing it for what it was.
    â€œI’ve too many bits and pieces,” she stated, looking at herself in the mirror.
    Fred stared in astonishment.
    â€œYou’re grand. What don’t you like?”
    â€œAll these.” Julia slipped off bolero and headdress and held them behind her back. “They’re beautiful, Fred, but I feel I ought to be neater.…”
    Side by side they gazed at her reflection; but, without the counterbalancing feathers, Julia’s hips, emphasized by the silver loincloth, now looked disproportionately large. She shook her head.
    â€œI haven’t the figure for it,” she admitted sadly. “I’d best leave it alone.”
    â€œYour figure’s grand,” said Fred. And he meant it. He looked at her with heartfelt admiration. As Julia replaced her headdress he said suddenly, “This place where you’re going—is Mr. Packett there too?”
    â€œHe’s dead,” said Julia. “He was killed in the war.”
    â€œYou must have been an awful kid to get married.”
    â€œSixteen,” said Julia. “He was an awful kid to get killed.”
    â€œHe was a hero all right,” said Fred.
    Julia nodded without speaking. His sympathy was sweet to her, but she had a suspicion that the spirit of her late husband might not be appreciating it. Sylvester never had liked her friends: when they tried to tell him how brave he was, he used to bite on his thumb and walk away. His shade was probably biting on its thumb now, and Julia, to placate it, hastily changed the subject.
    â€œIsn’t it nearly our call, Fred?”
    â€œAbout four minutes to go. Nervous?”
    â€œJust a bit. It’s as soon as I see you bowing?”
    â€œAs soon as you see us bowing you come on and change the card—just take the top one off. You can’t go