He looked up inquiringly. "Is Miss Derwent back again?"
"No. You'd never guess who it is this season o' the year. It's Judge Trent."
"Where is he?"
"Went down to the basin to find Miss Sylvy."
"Oh, did he?" Thinkright smiled in his interest.
"Yes. Kind of a touchin' meetin', I expect," remarked Mrs. Lem, lifting her pompadour and sighing sentimentally. Judge Trent had surprised her in a state of sleek and simple coiffure; but no sooner had his high hat disappeared down the hill than she flew into the bedroom and remedied the modest workaday appearance of her head; nor would the pompadour abate one half inch of its majestic proportions until he took his train back to Boston. She hoped she knew what was due to the lord of all he surveyed.
"How long has he been gone?" asked Thinkright.
"Oh, the best part of an hour, I should say."
"Then he must have found her," remarked the other, still with his speculative smile.
"Yes, indeed, and I hope she'll bring him home soon. It's real raw on the water to-day in spite of the sun, and the judge's bronicals ain't jest as strong as they might be."