“Fifteen dollars and a quarter!” ejaculated Molly. “That was just about what the original sum was, but I suppose in silver it was too heavy to come through the mails.”
She lay back on her pillows, her brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown.
“It’s a curious performance,” she said, after a brief silence. “I don’t understand.”
Judy at the foot of the bed, half buried in tissue paper and Christmas presents, glanced out of the window at the snowy landscape. There was a strange expression on her face and two little imps of laughter lurked in her wide gray eyes. Molly looked at her a moment, but Judy would not meet her gaze.
“Julia Kean,” broke out Molly, suddenly, “do you know whom you look like this moment? Mona Lisa. You have the same mysterious smile as if you knew a great deal more than you intended to tell. Now just turn around and look me in the eyes.” Molly crawled from under the covers and put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “Who sent me that first Martin Luther with all the small change?”
Judy’s lips curled into an irresistible smile. There was something very mellowed and soft about her face, like an old portrait, the colors of which had deepened with the years.
“You aren’t angry with me, Molly, dearest?” she asked, laying her cheek against Molly’s.
“Angry? How could I be angry, you adorable child?”
“You see it was just taking money out of one pocket to put it in the other, and it was the only way I could think of to make you take the yellow dress. You wouldn’t accept it as a gift. Of course, I never dreamed the real thief would repent.”
The two friends looked into each other’s eyes with loving confidence.