“I was afraid you were thinking too deeply to be disturbed.”
“Then I shouldn’t be disturbed; my mind would be absent from my ear and I should not hear that doubtful appeal. The doubt is what I object to.”
Marion and her mother had not returned from their drive to Meadow Centre, where Mrs. Kenney had a school friend. They intended to “spend an old-fashioned day,” Mrs. Kenney remarked at the breakfast table; it was five o’clock in the November afternoon and the old-fashioned day was not yet ended.
Judith and her fancy work, covers for Nettie’s bureau, had taken possession of the light in the bay window; as the light faded, she sat thinking with her work in her lap. Roger entered and threw himself upon the lounge, clasping his hands above his head; his thinking was weaving itself in and out of a suggestion of his mother’s that she should take Judith home for the winter.
To the suggestion he had replied nothing at all.
“Then the doubt is gone,” answered Judith, brightly. “I do not know how to put my thought.”
“Isn’t that rather a new experience?”
“It is the experience of every day,” she answered, unmindful of his teasing. “I wonder why God keeps us so much in the dark.”
“Perhaps we keep ourselves in the dark.”
“That is what I wanted to know.”