Mrs. Hale’s volatile nature had thrown off the depression of the past two days and, after the funeral services in the mortuary chapel of Oak Hill Cemetery, she had recovered from her inclination to hysteria and was, to all intents and purposes, her normal self again. At least, so the servants had concluded from her excessive interest in housekeeping affairs.
Not waiting for the dessert to be passed, Judith pushed back her chair and rose.
“If you will excuse me, Mother,” she said, “I will try to get a nap; I did not sleep very well last night.”
Her father regarded her with concern. “My dear child!” he exclaimed, startled by her pallor, “you look completely used up. Agatha, what do you mean by permitting Judith to get up this morning? She needs entire rest.”
“Well, really, Robert,”—Mrs. Hale flushed; her husband seldom addressed her in that tone—“Judith has a husband to look after her; I,” primly, “don’t interfere.”
The carmine rose in Judith’s white cheeks, then receded, leaving them whiter than before. There was a perceptible pause before she spoke.
“There is no cause for interference, Mother,” she protested. “Joe insisted upon my remaining in bed to-day, but I disobeyed him.”
Robert Hale laid down the cigar he was about to light and again regarded her.
“Where was Joe last night?” he inquired, and at the question Judith stiffened.
“He had to motor to Baltimore on business,” she explained. “In returning, his chauffeur drove recklessly and they met with an accident, so that Joe never reached home until about six o’clock this morning.”