“So Anna told me.” Hale was looking at his cigar and not at his daughter. “Hard on Joe to be sleepless for three nights running. When he comes in ask him to look me up.”
“Yes, Father.” Judith had taken a few steps toward the entrance to the central hall, when her mother’s shrill voice reached her.
“Why isn’t Joe here for luncheon?” she asked.
“He is lunching with friends at the Alibi Club.” Judith laid one hand on the portière nearest her and, turning, faced her parents. “Why are you so interested in Joe’s whereabouts?”
“What a question?” Hale laughed lightly. “We are interested in everything which concerns you, Judith; and surely your husband is of paramount importance. Run along, dearest, and get that needed sleep,” and, rising, Hale crossed the room and kissed her. The lips which Judith barely touched to his were cold, and without another word she hastened to her room.
Hale stood in the doorway gazing thoughtfully into space; and his expression gained in seriousness. “The Alibi,” he muttered. “Bah! an alibi.”
Once in her bedroom, Judith locked the communicating door between it and her boudoir; thus secured from interruption, she paced up and down her room, her footfall on the heavy carpet making no sound. Back and forth, back and forth—utter physical fatigue finally caused her to drop into a chair.
But while soft upholstery brought rest to her tired body, it gave no mental relief. What had come over her to lie—lie—lie—she, who had been brought up by her New England grandmother to abominate even the “delicate” white lie of society. And she had lied, not to an outsider, but to her father and mother, and lied about her husband.
Judith drew a long breath. She had “explained” Richards’ absence by drawing on her imagination. In reality she had no knowledge where he had gone after dinner the night before. She had pretended to be asleep when he came in at nearly seven in the morning and thrown himself on the outside of the bed. He had slept the sleep of utter exhaustion, and she had forborne to wake him, had forborne to question him when he finally awoke—and he had volunteered no explanation. He had not returned for luncheon, having left her with the remark that a stroll down town would freshen him up—and that was all.
A few bitter tears forced themselves under Judith’s closed eyelids; it was the first rift in their happy married life. His manner had been affectionate, tender, but——