"Why, you complained that I went too slow in the case of Edna."
"Yes, yes, indeed. There you would have had the best possible chances." The judge sighed. "You've missed your life-opportunity; now be cautious."
"You haven't seen Sylvia since she did up her hair, have you?"
The digression was so sharp and unexpected, Judge Trent winked, and came slowly back from his dejection.
"Hair?" he repeated, vaguely. "I shouldn't know whether she did up her hair or not. It's short, still, isn't it? How could she?"
"She puts a tight elastic, or ribbon, or something, around it, right at the crown. It makes a lot of little waves and curls that tumble around—well, just right."
Judge Trent blinked slowly toward the rather tense face.
"She's going up to the farm next week," he said.
"I know she is," replied Dunham. "So am I. She doesn't know it. I'm going to surprise her. I haven't asked if you could spare me. You'll have to."
Judge Trent's mouth fell slightly open. Presently he swung his chair around to his desk and began mechanically to examine and separate some papers which he took from a rubber band. Certain ones he tore and threw them into the wastebasket, returned others to a pigeonhole, and all in a businesslike rush, as if to make up for the time he had been wasting.