Judith leaned forward eagerly. How delightfully the red and blue splashes of colour of the professors' academic hoods showed up against the old-oak panelling. That must be an Oxford hood, and there was an Edinburgh one. Daddy had showed her one like that—but the President was speaking. He regretted that Dr. Johnson, who was to have lectured this afternoon, was unavoidably absent through illness, but a distinguished graduate of their own, who had been with the Intelligence Staff in Italy and had won the Military Cross because of a particularly brilliant piece of work there, who had been a prisoner in Russia for nearly a year, and who had recently been engaged in relief work in Serbia, had been prevailed upon to take Dr. Johnson's place. He had much pleasure in introducing Major David Phillips.
The York Hill line bent forward eagerly—an M.C.—a Russian prisoner—name David—David was a favourite name just then—one of their own University boys, wounded, tall, thin, dark hair turning grey at the temples in the most approved fashion! How satisfactorily romantic!
But just how romantic, not one of the forty guessed but Judith. She alone heard the quick intake of Miss Ashwell's breath, she alone saw the flood of colour sweep over Miss Ashwell's face, she could almost hear the thumpings of Miss Ashwell's heart, and Judith guessed at once that the here who was being enthusiastically applauded was the hero of the Italian snapshots, and Miss Ashwell's face was sufficient confirmation. How thrilling, how wonderful! He was home again, Miss Ashwell would be happy, everybody would be happy! Probably they would be married right away—she had forgotten the imaginary German bride—and maybe Miss Ashwell would let her help her in her shopping. She could go down on Saturday mornings. Aunt Nell knew an awfully good shop for linens, an Irish shop.
"Say, Judy," whispered Frances, "isn't that your Uncle Tom in the back row on the platform?"
Yes, it was. Judith blushed with vexation. Why couldn't Uncle Tom be more careful? His tie had slipped its moorings and was gradually working its way to the top of his collar. Really, relations ought to be less conspicuous unless they could be more presentable; she hoped Catherine wouldn't see him. He did look ridiculous. Whatever had he done to his hair? It looked as if he had gone to sleep in it, thought Judy indignantly.
Judith stole another glance at Miss Ashwell; the colour had faded and her face was white; it looked almost stern. Whatever was the matter? The lights went off for the lantern slides and Judith, greatly daring, whispered:
"Isn't that the Major Phillips you used to know, Miss Ashwell? The one who was with Uncle Brian in Italy?"
"Yes, I used to know him, Judith, a long time ago," in stiff, cold, dignified tones.
Judith felt dazed for a moment; then a happy inspiration came to her; a lovers' quarrel—that's what's the matter. Now, if they could just meet again without either of them having to give in, they would be sure to make it up.
It was very trying having no one to talk to. She wished fervently that Nancy or Sally May or Josephine or Joyce or some one other than Frances were beside her; she must think hard. Miss Ashwell was in love with Major Phillips, that was clear. Major Phillips must be in love with Miss Ashwell, that went without saying. Miss Ashwell was unhappy. Of course it wasn't her business at all, at all, but Judith didn't think of that. There was something appealing about Miss Ashwell at all times, and Miss Ashwell in trouble made Judith certain that something must be done. She hardly heard a word the lecturer said, but sat frowning, thinking hard; then her face cleared; she had a plan. She would make a dash for the platform and Uncle Tom the minute the last picture was put on the screen, and beg him to introduce her to Major Phillips, and she would ask him if he would speak at the Arts and Letters Club, for she knew they wanted some one for next week. Probably Miss Ashwell would be very much annoyed and would come after her, and then—further than that Judith didn't go, for she was immediately involved in the difficulties of how to get away from Miss Ashwell in order to make her dash for the platform. The York Hill girls would wait, of course, a few minutes until some of the people had gone before they tried to leave the building; perhaps by that time Major Phillips would have disappeared. Judith was still struggling to think of something plausible to say to Miss Ashwell when the lights came on again; and when the organist began "God Save the King" and the audience rose, Judith knew that she must act quickly if she were to to save the situation. Her heart thumped so loudly that there was a buzzing in her ears and her hands were icy cold. Miss Ashwell would be angry; she might even report Judith to Miss Meredith; Judith quailed at the thought; the last note sounded.