Her voice was quite steady.
“What a ghoul Reuben is! He has been waiting to step into that dead man’s shoes this last month and more.—‘Reuben Sachs, M.P.’—‘My brother, the member for St. Baldwin’s’—‘A man told me in the House last night’—‘My son cannot get away while Parliament is sitting.’—The whole family will be quite unbearable.”
Judith bent her head over an obstinate knot in the silk dress-lace.
“He is not elected yet,” she said.
Rose, her bodice unfastened, sprang round and faced her cousin.
“Reuben is as hard as nails!” she cried with apparent inconsequence. “Under all that good-nature, he is as hard as nails!”
“Undo my frock, please,” said Judith, yawning with assumed sleepiness. “It must be nearly four o’clock.”
Rose’s capable fingers moved quickly in and out the lace; as she drew the tag from the last hole, she said: “Well, Judith, when are we to congratulate you?”
Judith did not affect to misunderstand the allusion. Bertie’s open devotion had acted as a buffer between her and her smarting pride.
“Poor little person!” she said, and smiled.