"My name is Dunham, Miss Lacey," he said, meeting the blue eyes where the fire had burned out, showing the face so white, so young. "This is in the day's work for me, and I'm sorry. I am in Judge Trent's office, and he sent me here with your aunt to represent him."
"My aunt saved a lot of time," rejoined the girl slowly, speaking low. "She represented them both while I stood there behind the curtain." Her hands pressed together, and she looked again from one to the other.
"There isn't anything for you to stay for now, is there?" she added, after a painful silence.
"Why, of course there is!" exclaimed Miss Martha. "We haven't made any plan at all."
"What plan had you thought of making?"
Miss Martha cleared her throat and looked up at Dunham.
"I—we—wanted to ask what your plans were."
"They're nothing to you, I'm sure," returned the girl.
"Why, they're a great deal to us. You mustn't think Judge Trent and I don't feel any responsibility of you. We do."
The girl's lips quivered into something that tried to be a smile.