"Judith!" exclaimed her father.
"To earn your own living?" asked Ellis.
"I should not be afraid to try," she replied.
"You'd make a good stenographer, I do believe," he exclaimed.
"Thank you," she answered.
His enthusiasm mounted. "I have a situation open!" he cried.
"You wouldn't find her spelling perfect," commented the Colonel grimly. He laughed with immense enjoyment at his joke, and at the moment Beth Blanchard came out of the house and joined them.
Ellis did not see her at first; he was watching the Colonel, and divined that no great barrier separated him from the aristocrat; there had been in Blanchard's manner nothing that expressed repulsion—nothing like Fenno's coolness, for instance, or the constant scrutiny which was so uncomfortable. Blanchard had seemed willing to fill up his idle hours by speech with any one; he was a new specimen, therefore, and Ellis was studying him, when of a sudden he heard Judith speak his name, and looked up to meet the gaze of a pair of quiet eyes. With a little start he scrambled to his feet.
"My sister," Judith was saying.
He bowed and endeavoured to speak, but he felt that the beginning was wrong. Beth was in turn dissecting him; she was something entirely different from Judith, more thoughtful, less headstrong. The idea that here was an adverse influence came into his mind, as he stammered that he was pleased to meet her.