"No, they wouldn't, because"—something had happened to her eyes, so that they did not look tantalizing—"you'd take care of me, Willard," she announced surprisingly, "wouldn't you?"
"Forget it," murmured Willard, flattered.
"Wouldn't you?"
"I——"
"Willard!"
"Yes."
"Well—I am. Father made mother let me. I'm going with you."
The words she had been trying to say were out at last in a hushed voice, because her heart was beating hard, but they sounded beautiful to her, like a kind of song. Perhaps Willard heard it, too. He really was her best friend, and he did not look so fat, after all, in the twilight. She waited breathlessly.
"You are?"
Judith nodded. She could not speak.