"It makes a feller feel like doing something more'n being just sad! It makes a feller feel like—well——"
"Like startin' something!"
The other nodded, grimly, his mouth caved in at the corners, tight shut now.
CHAPTER XV
THE ANGELS AND MISS JULIA
Anne scarcely had left the office when Judge Henderson, stepping into the inner room, pulled open a certain door of a cabinet beneath the washhand-stand. He drew forth a half-filled bottle of whisky, shook it once meditatively, and poured himself an adequate drink, refreshing himself with water at the tap. He stood for a moment, the half-emptied glass in his hand, looking at his features in the little glass which hung above the cabinet.
Not an unpleasant face it seemed to him; for so slowly had the lines come in his features, so slowly the gray in his hair, that almost he was persuaded they were not there at all. Delayed by the mirror to the extent of having consumed but half of his refreshing draft, yet purposing further imbibition, Judge Henderson paused at the sound of some person ascending the outer stair.
It was a very halting and uncertain step that came this time, one which seemed to double on each lift of the stair, with an accentuating tap-tap, as of a stick used in aid. But after a time he sensed its pause at his door. There was a rap, a faint little rap, although the door itself was ajar. Judge Henderson discreetly returned to the cabinet his half-finished glass of whisky and water, and stepped into the other room.
It was Miss Julia Delafield whom he met.