Judy went out to dinner on Dr. Grennell's arm. She looked very grown up with her long white dress, with her hair twisted high, with pearl sidecombs that had belonged to her grandmother, and with a bunch of violets—Launcelot's birthday gift to her, in her belt.
"How old are you, little lady?" asked the doctor, as they took their seats at the table.
"As old as I look," flashing a demure glance.
"Then you are ten," he decided, "in spite of your hair on top of your head. Your eyes give you away. They are child-eyes."
"I hope she will always keep child-eyes," said the Judge, who at the head of the table was serving the soup from an old-fashioned silver tureen, with Perkins at his elbow to pass the plates. "I don't want her to grow up."
"I shall always be your little girl, grandfather," and Judy nodded happily to him from the foot of the table, where she was taking Aunt Patterson's place, "even when I am forty."
"Aw, forty," said Tommy Tolliver, unexpectedly, "that's awful old.
You'll be an old maid, Judy."
"That's what I intend to be," said that independent young lady. "I am going to be an artist."
"Oh, Judy," said little Anne, "you know you won't. You will marry Prince Charming and live happy ever after, as the fairy books say, and it will be lovely."
But Judy shrugged her shoulders, as they all laughed.