She showed them the garden and then the house. They asked questions and admired the furniture and the rare books she picked out for them in the library.
‘When Daddy comes back you must meet him,’ she said. ‘He’d love to show you his books.’
She was sure he would like such appreciative young men.
‘I’d like to meet him awfully,’ said Martin. ‘I’ve often heard about him.’
She glowed.
‘No wonder you’re a bookworm, Judy,’ said Roddy, searching the shelves with absorbed eyes. ‘I’d be myself if I had this always round me.’
He could hardly tear himself away from browsing and gazing.
In the hall hung a water-color portrait of Judith at the age of six.
‘Ah!’ said Roddy. ‘I remember you like this.’
He looked from her to the portrait, and then at her again, as if remembering and comparing, and dwelling on the face she smilingly lifted to him until she had to drop her eyes.