Richards had received a warm welcome in the Noyes’ home, and his hostess, a born matchmaker, was quick to observe his infatuation for Judith, and did everything within her power to aid his courtship.
Judith strove to steel her heart to his ardent pleading, but all to no purpose—youth called to youth in a language familiar to every age, and in the romantic background of the Land of the Chrysanthemum they pledged their troth. A week later they were married in the American Consulate by a United States Navy chaplain, and Mr. and Mrs. Noyes, looking backward over their own well-ordered wedded life, wished them Godspeed on their road to happiness.
Happy days had followed, happier than any Judith had known, for in spite of her brave attempt to ignore her deafness and to show only a contented front to the world, that very deafness had built a barrier of reserve which even Judith’s parents had never penetrated. But Richards, whose deep love was a guide to a sympathetic understanding of her shy and sensitive nature, gained a devotion almost akin to worship as the days sped on, and then came the summons home.
With a faint shiver Judith straightened herself in her chair, put down her hair brush and took up the slender wire (in shape like those worn by telephone operators, but much lighter and narrower) attached to the earpiece of the “globia-phone,” and slipped it over her head. It took but a second to adjust the earpiece, and with deft fingers she dressed her hair low on her neck and covering her ears. The style was not only extremely becoming, but completely hid the little instrument held so snugly against her ear. It took but a moment to complete her dressing, and slipping the small battery of the “globia-phone” inside her belt, she adjusted the lace jabot so that its soft folds concealed but did not obscure the sound-gathering part of the earphone, and with one final look in the glass to make sure that her becoming costume fitted perfectly, she turned away just as a loud knock sounded on the boudoir door. Judith laid her hand involuntarily on the back of her chair, then, squaring her shoulders, she walked across the room and unlocked the door and faced her father’s secretary.
“Polly!” The ejaculation was low-spoken and Judith cast one searching look about the boudoir before pulling the girl inside her bedroom and closing the door. “Have you just come?”
“Yes, I came right up here.” Polly Davis, conscious that her knees were treacherously weak, sank into the nearest chair, and Judith, in the uncompromising glare of the morning sunlight, saw in the girl’s upturned face the haggard lines which care had brought overnight. Judith dropped on her knees beside Polly and threw her arm protectingly about her. They had been classmates at a fashionable private school until the death of Polly’s father had brought retrenchment and, later, painful economies in its wake, so that she was obliged to forsake her lessons for a clerkship.
The change from affluence to poverty had produced no alteration in the affection the two girls bore each other, an affection on Judith’s part tempered with responsibility, as Polly, her junior by a few months, came frequently to her for advice—which she seldom if ever followed. Polly’s contact with the world had borne fruit in an embittered outlook on life which in some degree alienated her from her former friends, and she had turned to Judith with the heart-hunger of a nature thrown upon itself for woman’s companionship. Polly’s dainty blond beauty and bright vivacity had gained her lasting popularity with men, but with her own sex she was generally classed as “catty.”
Judith was the first to speak. “Polly—what can I say?” she stammered. “How comfort you?”
For answer the yellow head was dropped on Judith’s shoulder and dry, tearless sobs racked her slender body.
“Hush! Hush!” exclaimed Judith, alarmed by her agony. “Polly, Polly, remember——”