“Surely she corresponds with her own mother,” exclaimed Judy without answering Molly’s question.
“Her father writes to her about once a week, I know; but I don’t think she hears very often from Mrs. Oldham. You see, her mother’s away most of the time lecturing.”
“Lecturing—fiddlesticks!” cried Judy indignantly. “What kind of a mother is she, I’d like to know? I’ll bet you anything Nance doesn’t know at all she’s going to be here. I think we ought to tell her, Molly.”
“Poor Nance,” answered Molly. “I don’t know which would mortify her most: to know or not to know. Suppose we find out in some tactful roundabout way whether she knows, and then I’ll offer to go in with you Saturday night and give her mother my bed.”
Judy cordially consented to this arrangement, having a three-quarter bed in her small room, although secretly she was not fond of sharing it and preferred both her bed and her room to herself.
It was not until much later in the day that they saw Nance, who appeared to be radiantly and buoyantly happy. Her usually quiet face was aglow with a soft light, and as she passed her two friends she waved a letter at them gayly.
“You see, she knows and she is delighted,” exclaimed Judy. “Just as we would be. Oh, Molly, wait until you see my mother, if you want to meet a thing of beauty and a joy forever. You’d think I was her mother instead of her being mine, she is so little and sweet and dainty.”
Molly laughed.
“Isn’t she coming up soon? I’d dearly love to meet her.”
“I’m afraid not. You know papa is always flying off on trips and mamma goes with him everywhere. I used to, too, before I decided to be educated. It was awfully exciting. We often got ready on a day’s notice to go thousands of miles, to San Francisco or Alaska or Mexico, anywhere. Papa is exactly like me, or, rather, I am exactly like him, only he is a hundred times better looking and more fascinating and charming than I can ever hope to be.”