“Pray put an end to this teasing, Miss Delavigne,” said Armour wearily, and opening the door of the near library.
To Judy’s great delight, Vivienne came back with her. Into the large, quiet room with its sombre rose and ashen tints they went. “How can you have a headache in this cool place, Stanton?” said Judy. “Now if you were in the fiery furnace of the drawing room one might understand it. You must turn up your lamp—there is not light enough for me—and poke your fire. I am cold. Where shall I sit? Not too far from the heat, if you please. Draw that little table up for me and put that grandfatherly chair in front of the fire for Vivienne, and you may sit behind the big table.”
“Does your head ache badly?” asked Vivienne, fixing her large, dark eyes on Armour’s face.
“Rather badly.”
“That means it is splitting,” said Judy briskly. “Most men would say that. Stanton never exaggerates.”
Armour smiled slightly, and having complied with Judy’s rather unreasonable demands in the way of supplies of pens, blotting paper, and all the paraphernalia of a secretary’s desk, seated himself at a little distance from her and began to dictate. Judy wrote a fair, round hand, and under the pressure of a silver spur had become familiar with the ordinary forms of business correspondence, so that the writing went smoothly on. The girl, unlike her spendthrift mother, was inclined to be miserly, and hoarded every cent that she received to be deposited in the savings bank, the gloating over her bank book being one of her chief pleasures in life.
One hour passed, then another, and still Judy wrote steadily on, only stopping once or twice to ask Mr. Armour to replenish the fire, or to bestow a loving glance on Vivienne who had fallen asleep over her book, her head resting on the cushion of her high-backed chair. “I’m tired,” she exclaimed at last, throwing down her pen. “Won’t this do?”
“Yes,” he said looking at his watch. “I had no idea it was so late. I fear that I have fatigued you.”
“Are they to be posted to-night?” said Judy, her eyes wandering to the heap of letters on the table.
“Yes. Just ring the bell beside you; Vincent must go to the post office.”