“She isn’t ashamed, she likes it. Give her your hand, Dick, and help her out; I must hold Daisy.”
Judith stepped down and stood beside the linen duster and gray hat, fervently wishing she had stayed at home.
“Roger, how long will you be gone?” she inquired, faint-heartedly.
“Till supper-time—we have business on hand—if you don’t have supper ready for us I’ll lose you on the way home.”
“There’s bread in the house, and butter and milk and eggs—but the dishes—,” excused the embarrassed housekeeper.
“Trust a girl to wash dishes. Will you wear that duster?”
“I have a coat under it. Wait until I show Miss Judith in; my study is the only fit place.”
“Show her the kitchen, there’s where you need a visitor.”
“The front door is locked,” apologized Mr. King. “I am sorry to take you to the back hall door.”
Judith’s courtesy and kindliness failed her; Roger deserved a scolding for bringing her to such a forlorn place; what could she do with herself two or three hours?