Secretly she was mortified at not having been asked down to St. Baldwin’s for the campaign, Reuben having met her hints on the subject in a very decided manner. There was some satisfaction in venting her feelings on Judith, for whose benefit her last remark was uttered.
“When is the election?” said Rose, turning to her aunt.
“Not till to-day week. But I may safely say there is no real cause for anxiety.”
“Did you see last night’s Globe?” cried Adelaide, “and the St. James’s? They cracked up Reuben no end.”
Judith had seen them; she had seen also the Pall Mall Gazette, which expressed itself in very different terms.
She had put back Poems and Ballads on its shelf, and had taken to reading all the articles respecting the prospects of the St. Baldwin’s elections that she could lay hands on.
At least she had a right to be interested in what she had been told so much about, but there were times when she felt, as she read, that her interest was intrusive, a thing to be ashamed of.
“I suppose,” said Rose, “that he is too busy to write much.”
“We had a letter yesterday—just a line. He seemed in splendid spirits, and has promised to wire from time to time,” answered Adelaide.
“A good son,” said Mrs. Sachs half tenderly, half jestingly, very proudly, “who never forgets his mother.”