Silence seemed to be the wisest course for Judge Burnham. He was thrown out of his bearings. Since she did not need comfort, and refused to receive, why should he attempt to give it? But he didn’t in the least understand her. He wondered curiously whether his sympathy had been equally thrown away on his friend, Judge Erskine, or whether he, with his refined and sensitive tastes, had really received a blow from which it would be hard to rally. The more he thought about it the more probable this seemed. As he thought he waxed indignant.
“If I were he I would forbid her appearance in public, until she learns what is due to her position. It isn’t likely that he can rise to the fanatical heights where his daughter has managed to climb. Probably she will have made a descent by to-morrow morning. I mean to go in and see the Judge.”
Acting upon this mental conclusion, he ascended the Erskine steps, and followed Ruth without waiting for a formal invitation. Her father had just entered, and was still in the hall. He turned toward his friend.
“Come in, Burnham. I was very glad to see you where I did to-night. I hope it will not be the last time. I am sure you must have enjoyed the meeting. Come to the library and let us talk it over.” And Judge Erskine threw open the library door, while the others of his family turned toward the parlor.
“Well,” he said, as the door closed after them, “what did you think of the meeting?”
“I confess to being considerably surprised,” Judge Burnham answered. Truth to tell, he hadn’t the least idea what it would be wise to say.
“Weren’t you!” said Judge Erskine, with energy. “I never was more so. I didn’t know she was of that stamp; and yet I might have known it. She has given me several glimpses of her spirit during the little time in which I have known anything about her.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do? How? I am not sure that I understand the question.”
“Why, I mean as to the position which she assumed to-night.”