Part 10 (2/2)

”Stupid,” repeated Judith absently, and forgot the Everards. The moon, far away but very clear, shone down at her in an unwinking, concentrated way, as if it were s.h.i.+ning into the Colonel's garden and nowhere else, and at n.o.body but Judith. She did not look disconcerted by the attention, but stared back at it with eyes that were not sleepy now, but very big and bright--wondering, but not afraid.

On still nights like this you could just hear the church clock strike from the garden, but you could not count all the strokes. Judith listened for the sound. It was early, and out here, in the cool, still air, it felt early, though the time had pa.s.sed so slowly in the Colonel's sleepy rooms. She could hear no music from the house. They would soon begin to put out the bridge tables. There was always a chance that they would need her to complete a table, but if they did not, the Colonel's car was to take her home at nine.

And the Colonel's youngest guest had further plans for the evening.

CHAPTER SIX

”That will be all, Miss?”

”Yes,” said Judith, with unnecessary emphasis. ”Oh, yes, indeed!”

The Everards' car turned and flashed out of the drive and up the street.

Judith stood still on the steps and watched it, if a young lady with her breath coming fast and her eyes s.h.i.+ning bright in the dark, and her heart beating unaccountably hard can be said to be standing still. One light burned forlornly over the entrance of the inn. Light was Judge Saxon's one extravagance, and plenty of it was waiting for him in the house next door, though it would be two before any one left the Everards' but Judith.

The house before her was dark, and the dimly lighted street was profoundly still, with the heavy and brooding stillness that comes upon village streets after nine and is to be found nowhere else in the world.

Judith did not seem depressed by it. Somewhere on a side street solitary footsteps echoed hollow through the silence, and she listened intently, but they came no nearer, and presently died away. She fumbled excitedly with her key, threw open the door, and groped her way across the unlighted hall. She encountered the telephone table prematurely, clutched it, and laughed a high-keyed, strange little laugh.

”Who's there?” demanded a voice from the stairs, disconcertingly close.

The lights, switched suddenly on, flashed into Judith's eyes, and Norah confronted her, peculiarly forbidding in a discarded cape of Judith's and her own beflowered best hat.

”Oh, it's you,” she said.

”Who did you expect? Anybody else? Did--anybody come?”

”I expected you a half hour ago.”

”What made you wait for me?”

”Didn't you want me to?”

”Nana, of course, but if your sister is sick and needs you----”

Norah listened to this irreproachable sentiment suspiciously. ”It's late to go,” she said.

”I'll walk up with you if you're frightened.”

”You! Can you unhook that dress?”

”Yes. I'm going to bed pretty soon. I'm awfully sleepy.”

”There's some ginger ale on the ice.”

”I can get it open myself. Did anybody come?”

”A boy you know.”

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