The judge was standing, waiting in silence for her to be seated. No movement or expression showed that the objects about him bore different associations from those connected with his office furniture, and if she took her seat on the haircloth sofa with an idea that he would join her she was disappointed. He parted his coat-tails and perched upon a straight-backed structure of mahogany, usually avoided by every caller.
"Well, Martha, I haven't much to tell. She's very pretty."
"I told you so, Calvin. I told you that was the trouble."
"Precisely. In addition I must say she has very little use for us,—for you and me."
Miss Lacey shook her head mournfully. "How did she treat you? Did she flash up and snap her eyes?"
"No, she shut them with a sort of a take-it-away expression."
"But she is safe now, isn't she? You will let her stay at the farm, won't you?"
"Yes, of course," returned the judge.
"Does she look so ill and pitiful?"
"No, she's picking up. She seems perfectly contented under Thinkright's wing."