“Dear old faculty meeting—a special one!” he said apologetically. “You needn’t hurry back. I’ll fix dinner—”
Judy was already at the door, mumbling something incoherently about egg nog, refrigerator, watercress—hearing only her father’s puzzled exclamation, “Where’s the fire?” as she recklessly rushed down the porch steps.
The cool, refreshing wind blew through her hair, but she arrived at the Hall hot and breathless.
Judy blinked. The room seemed dim after the sunlight. Two boys were in the room, one at the piano, the other toying with an oboe or flute—she couldn’t tell which. They stopped talking as she entered. She recognized the colored boy whom she had met with Karl. “A brilliant student,” Karl had told her, “completely at home in what must be a new and strange environment.”
“Aren’t you James Powell?” she asked.
“Yes, of course, and you’re Judy. Hello!”
“Hello,” came in hollow tones from some remote region of Judy’s chest. “You didn’t happen to see Karl here, did you?” she asked diffidently.
“He left with a very cute number some fifteen minutes ago,” the other boy volunteered with an innocent smirk.
As Judy made no comment, James added quickly, “He seemed very put out, Judy, he’d been waiting around so long—”
“Yes, I’m late, but it couldn’t be helped.”