As in a trance, Judy walked into the house. The guests were gone. Only the hall was lighted. She climbed the stairs to her room.
“Is that you, Judy?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I was just beginning to worry what was keeping you so late.” Her mother spoke evenly but Judy could detect the annoyance in her voice.
“Get to sleep quickly, dear.”
Judy lay huddled on her bed, her clothes negligently tossed on a chair. She murmured to herself, “He loves me—thank Heaven, he loves me—” She closed her eyes to live over again this last wonderful hour.
Between half-consciousness and sleep, she saw Karl bowing before a great audience in Carnegie Hall, a Stradivarius under his arm. She, looking beautiful and elegantly dressed, sat in a stage box. As the wife of the newly acclaimed artist—her lips trembled, overcome with joy.
A hand lightly touched her forehead. “Feel all right?” It was her mother. “I got up to get a blanket and saw the light on in your room—”
“Forgot, I guess,” Judy’s eyelids flickered for a second. She turned on her side to continue dreaming.