“Leo is in one of his moods,” said Judith looking after him. “I am sure I don’t know what is the matter with him.”
Reuben, who understood perhaps more of Leopold’s state of mind than any one suspected, of the struggles with himself, the revolt against his surroundings which the lad was undergoing, answered slowly: “He is in a ticklish stage of his growth. Horribly unpleasant, I grant you. But I like the boy, though he regards me at present as an incarnation of the seven deadly sins.”
“You know he is very fond of you.”
“That may be. All the same, he thinks I keep a golden calf in my bedroom for purposes of devotion.”
Judith laughed, and Reuben, his face very close to hers, said: “Can you keep a secret?”
“You know best.”
“Well, that poor boy is head over heels in love with Lord Norwood’s sister.”
She looked up with her most matter-of-fact air.
“He will have to get over that!”
“Judith!” cried Reuben, piqued, provoked, inflamed by her manner; “I believe there isn’t one grain of sentiment in your whole composition. Oh, I know it’s a fine thing to be calm and cool and have one’s self well in hand, but a woman is not always the worse for such a weakness as possessing a heart.”