“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, smiling faintly. “I have no intention of taking the easy way out.”
A dozen questions flashed through Penny’s mind, but she was afraid to ask any of them. From Mr. Judson’s remarks it was fairly evident that he never had relinquished the Press voluntarily. Could financial difficulties alone account for his state of mental depression?
In the darkening twilight the car approached a white-painted brick house, set back some distance from the boulevard. Once an elegant dwelling, peeling paint had made it an unsightly residence. Roof shingles were curling, the front porch sagged, while an iron fence only partially hid a wide expanse of untended lawn.
“This is my home,” said Mr. Judson. “Turn into the driveway if you wish.”
Penny stopped the car just inside the iron gate.
As Mr. Judson alighted, a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties, arose from a bench. A white collie at her side, she came toward the car. Midway across the lawn, she paused, staring. Then, she half turned as if to retreat.
“Pauletta,” called Mr. Judson. “Will you come here, please?”
Reluctantly the girl approached the car, her gaze meeting Penny’s almost defiantly. Pauletta was a beautiful girl with auburn hair and steel-blue eyes.
“Pauletta, this is Miss Parker,” said her father.
“How do you do,” responded the girl coldly.