"Come here." Norah put two heavy hands on her shoulders and regarded her grimly. It was the kind of look that Judith used to associate with second sight, and dread. It was quite formidable still. But Judith met it steadily, with something mature and assured about her look that had nothing to do with the softness and sweetness of her in her fluffy draperies, something that had no place in the heart of a child; something that Norah saw.
"Too good for them, and you know it," pronounced Norah. "You know it too well. You know too many things. A heart of gold you've got, but your head will rule your heart."
"Nonsense." Norah permitted herself to be kissed, still looking forbidding, but holding Judith tight.
"Little white lamb, may you find what's good enough for you," she conceded, unexpectedly, "and may you know it when you find it."
"You're an old dear, and you're good enough for me."
Downstairs there was a more critical audience to face. Judith saw it in the library door, and stood still on the stair landing, looking down. She held her head high, and coloured faintly. She looked very slender and white against the dark woodwork of the hall. The Randall house had been renovated the year before—becoming ten years older in the process, early Colonial instead of a comfortable mixture of late Colonial and mid-Victorian. The hall was particularly Colonial, and a becoming background for Judith, but the dark-haired lady in the door had no more faith in compliments than Norah, and there was a worried wrinkle in her low forehead to-night, as if her mind were on other things.
"Will I do, mother?"
"It's a good little gown, but there's something wrong with the neck line. You're really going then?"
"I thought I would."
"Be back by half-past ten. We're going to have some cards here. The Colonel likes you to pass things."