“In his own,” replied her mother, “and other people’s. I did not intend to speak my thought aloud.”
The sunset was in the room: it was over Judith, and over her mother.
“Was he sorry he did not come here?” Judith persisted.
“I think he was. He said we would have made him so comfortable. He would have taken his meals with Mrs. Kindare.”
“Are you sorry, too?”
“No—not exactly. If it were a mistake, it will be taken care of—it is very queer to trust God with our sins and not with our mistakes.”
“I made a ‘mistake’ that night he was here, mother; I did not mean to make a sin.”
“Tell me, dear.”
“I thought I would never tell. I was afraid it would worry you. But I cried after I went to bed. You will think me naughty and silly.”
“Do I ever?”