Penny nodded, and for Mr. Judson’s benefit, offered a few remarks about the roses.
“We once had a beautiful garden,” commented Pauletta. “Now it’s in ruin, the same as the yard. Father doesn’t look after the place as he should.”
“The grounds are large,” replied Mr. Judson mildly.
“You shouldn’t try to do the work yourself,” Pauletta protested. “It was foolish of you to let the gardener go.”
Penny felt increasingly ill at ease. As they wandered about the grounds, Pauletta kept making disparaging remarks, thoughtless comments which wounded her father. However, he offered no rebuttal, nor did he reprove his daughter.
“I really must be going,” said Penny at last. “It’s getting very dark.”
Mr. Judson walked with her to the car, closing the gate after she had driven from the grounds. He stood there a moment, the wind rumpling his gray hair. Then he raised his hand in friendly salute and turned toward the house.
“Poor Mr. Judson,” she thought. “So discouraged and yet so gallant! How can Pauletta be completely blind to his suffering? Doesn’t she realize?”
Penny did not regret having kept the young woman’s secret, for she felt that the revelation of their meeting would only add to Mr. Judson’s troubles. Pauletta represented his entire life, and if it developed that she had acted unbecomingly, the shock might be a severe one.
“I can’t believe that Pauletta would steal,” she told herself. “She must have had another reason for wearing the disguise.”