"Certainly, Judge. I saw her just now disappearing up the street."
"Well, listen. I have decided not to go to Boston Wednesday morning. You will go in my place."
"Yes?"
"Miss Lacey is going on the same train."
"Ah," Dunham nodded slowly and with becoming gravity.
"You will have a seat in the parlor car. She will not have. Martha would think that nonsense; but her errand will be at the same place as yours. My sister married her brother. Both are dead, and they have left a daughter who has come out of the West to Boston to seek us. I suspect there may be a good deal of wool clinging to her."
"A lamb, of course," murmured Dunham.
"The disposition of this girl is costing Miss Lacey considerable worry, and me quite as much, although I don't think best to let Martha know it. I intended to go to the hotel to meet her myself; but"—
The younger man smiled, and the judge saw that he understood.
"I shall prepare some memoranda for you. What I am ready to buy is peace. You understand? You will be cautious, and not let me in for anything except perhaps immediate expenses. Follow Miss Lacey's lead; but let her lead. Eh?"