Mrs. Blair laughed lightly, and the laugh served to dissipate their cares. She went to the edge of the veranda and pulled a few leaves from the climbing rose-vine that grew there, and the judge put on his glasses and spread out his paper.
“I’ll take her out for a drive this afternoon,” said Mrs. Blair, turning to go indoors.
“She’ll be all right,” said the judge, already deep in the political columns.
That night at supper, the judge looked at Lavinia closely, and after a while he said:
“You’re not eating, Lavinia. Don’t you feel well?”
Lavinia turned to her father and smiled.
“Oh, I’m all right.”
Her smile perplexed the judge.
“You look pale,” he said.
Mrs. Blair glanced warningly at him the length of the table.