More than a little bewildered, the young man reassured her and suggested that she wait downstairs in the lobby.
“She seems to have affected Miss Grimshaw strangely,” he explained to Judy later.
“Yes, and Irene can’t stand too much excitement,” she returned. “You didn’t know, but for the past three years she’s been working almost day and night, taking care of her crippled father. She’d be doing it yet if my dad hadn’t arranged to have him cared for in a sanitarium. It’s better for him and better for Irene. Her mother is dead.”
“Poor kid! No wonder she thought something dreadful had happened to Her Majesty.”
Judy had gone for a pitcher of water and stood beside her employer’s chair dampening her handkerchief and rubbing her forehead. That seemed to have little effect, but when Dale attempted to move her to the sofa the old lady promptly opened her eyes and protested violently. She staggered back to her chair and sat there staring at the spot where Irene had sat. Then she sighed heavily. “Old fool that I am—seeing things.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE MISSING POEMS
The agent’s collapse had unnerved Judy more than a little, and it was some time before she settled herself to her work. Dale had left but not before promising to see Irene safely home.
“She probably won’t want to come near the office again,” Judy thought. “Poor Irene! I wonder what made Emily Grimshaw act up and scare her so.”