"No—grandfather says that I am to stay here with him—" There was despair in the young voice.
Anne went over to the window. "Perhaps you will like it after awhile," she said, hopefully, "the Judge is such a dear."
"I know—" Judy's tone was stifled, "but he isn't—he isn't my mother—Anne—"
For a few minutes there was silence, then Judy went on:
"You see I nursed mother all through her last illness. I was with her every minute—and—and—I want her so—I want my mother—Anne—"
But so self-controlled was she, that though her voice broke and her lips trembled, her eyes were dry. Anne reached out a plump, timid hand, and laid it over the slender one on the window-sill.
"I haven't any mother either, Judy," she said, and Judy looked down at her with a strange softness in her dark eyes. Suddenly she bent her head in a swift kiss, then drew back and squared her shoulders.
"Don't let's talk about it," she said, sharply. "I can't stand it—I can't stand it—Anne—"
But in spite of the harshness of her tone, Anne knew that there was a bond between them, and that the bond had been sealed by Judy's kiss.