CHAPTER XXI
HER FATHER’S OWN DAUGHTER
“I don’t see why you take it so hard, Molly darling,” said Judy as Molly told her of the detectives’ findings and of the perfidy they had unearthed.
“Why, I fancy I am grieving that such wickedness can be in this world,” sighed Molly. “I liked Madame Misel so much.”
“Well, I never did like her,” declared Judy.
Molly smiled, well remembering Judy’s enthusiasm on arriving at Wellington and telling of the interesting couple she had met on the train.
“I know what you are thinking about—of course I said they were interesting, but I never did like the woman much—she was too catty for me.”
This conversation was interrupted by the loud ringing of the telephone bell, which proved to be a long distance call for Judy from Mr. Kean in New York. His marching orders had come and he was to sail for France in a few days, and for the first time on record he could not take his little wife with him. Building roads and bridges in war time was very different from times of peace, and France at that time was no place for delicate little ladies.
“You had better come right up to New York on the next train,” was his ringing command. “Your mother needs you and I must see you, too.”