"You have been lonesome, dear?"
"To thank you," pursued Judith steadily, "for the service you did my sister, in ridding her of Mr. Wayne."
Very fortunately, after the two had remained looking at each other for a quarter of a minute, while Mrs. Harmon grew very red in the face and Judith remained unchanged, Miss Cynthia suddenly entered the room.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, halting. "I didn't know that any one was here."
"You didn't disturb us," Judith answered. "Mrs. Harmon was just going."
Mrs. Harmon, looking as if she would burst if she attempted to speak, could only bow with an attempt at frigidity, quite spoiled by the visible heat which was almost smothering her, and departed with suddenness. Miss Cynthia, never surprised at people's actions, looked at Judith, whose cheeks were very pale, while her eyes had lost their fire.
"I suppose I've insulted her," said Judith.
"I hope you have," Miss Cynthia answered. But watching Judith intently, she suddenly seized her by the arm, forced her to the sofa, forbade her to stir, and sent for tea. It was a sign of change that Judith took the ministration passively.
Yet her growing weariness was not to be relieved by a short rest or a cup of tea. Her nerves kept her at work, driving her at forced draught, which for long at a time is good for neither machinery nor man. Mather came that evening, and was led into the parlour by Beth, but his eyes sought for Judith in vain. "Where is she?" he demanded.