to back you up! That was why he was so anxious to get you married. It may be a surprise to you to know that your aunt’s plan for you to go abroad is actually -your father’s. He and I had discussed it several times.”
Judith was silent. She knew perfectly well that he was speaking the truth. For one thing, there was no reason why he should not be, and for another, there was a ring of truth in every word. She stood up.
“There doesn’t seem much that I can do, does there?” she said dully. “Why didn’t Aunt Harriet tell me this?”
“I advised her to,” Mr. Bellairs admitted. “Because I thought that it would mean less fuss, but she was anxious to spare your feelings ”
“She need not have worried,” Judith said harshly. “I haven’t any! I just feel—numbed.”
The solicitor got up and took her hands in his. He, like Harriet Ravensdale, had often argued with Mark about the way in which he was bringing Judith up, but he would never listen—until it occurred to him one day, not that he was doing his daughter a wrong, but that the estate might suffer. But that, as it turned out, was not very long before his unexpected death.
“Will it not make everything easier for you that you know now it was your father’s wish?” he asked gently.
Judith shook her head.
“No. You see, I thought—I really did think—I had come to mean, as much to him as a son could have done! Now—I know I was just deceiving myself.”
Mr. Bellairs was silent. He knew, as Miss Ravensdale did, that not only could Judith never really have taken the place with Mark of the son he had wanted so badly, but also that she had been' robbed of the opportunity of being what a daughter should be to a father.
“Poor child,” he said gently, but Judith pulled her hand from his friendly grasp.
“No!” she gasped. “Don’t pity me—I—I can’t bear ”
She fled our of the room and Mr. Bellairs made no attempt to follow her. Instead he went to the telephone and called up Miss Ravensdale.
“Oh Hugh, I’ve made such a terrible mess of it!” Miss Ravensdale said despondently. “And I’d have given all I had ”
“You don’t need to tell me that!” he interrupted her sadly. “Haven’t I good cause to know it?”
Judith woke the next morning with the feeling that an intolerable burden was weighing her-down. She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed out of the wide open window with none of the joy that a new-born morning usually brought Her. Instead, she pondered over the problems that the day would bring.
Late into the night she had turned over what she had heard from Mr. Bellairs, and she had made up her mind. No matter what it cost her, she would follow out her father’s wishes—but Charles should go. Not that she would ask her aunt to send him away. Pride forbade that. But she had no such faith in him as Miss Ravensdale had, and even in such a short time as a month there would surely be time to prove that he had made mistakes too bad for him to be left in charge of Windygates.
Slowly she got out of bed and slipped into the boyish dressing-gown that lay at the foot of the bed. Then she went out to the bathroom and took the cold bath that she had been trained to have as long as she could remember. She shivered a little, and out of the past came a voice that said, as it had said so many times of so many things:' “A boy would not do that!”
Stony-faced, she went downstairs. Miss Ravensdale was already seated at the table, and she looked up as the girl came in.
“Good morning, Judith!” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning,” Judith responded curtly as she slipped into her seat. As usual, she was wearing riding breeches and thick stockings, with a severe, man-tailored shirt. It was, as a matter of fact, the only outfit she ever wore except on Sundays when she went to church, and in the evenings. Even then," though she was properly dressed, her clothes were of the simplest. One could not imagine Judith in
Judith was silent. She knew perfectly well that he was speaking the truth. For one thing, there was no reason why he should not be, and for another, there was a ring of truth in every word. She stood up.
“There doesn’t seem much that I can do, does there?” she said dully. “Why didn’t Aunt Harriet tell me this?”
“I advised her to,” Mr. Bellairs admitted. “Because I thought that it would mean less fuss, but she was anxious to spare your feelings ”
“She need not have worried,” Judith said harshly. “I haven’t any! I just feel—numbed.”
The solicitor got up and took her hands in his. He, like Harriet Ravensdale, had often argued with Mark about the way in which he was bringing Judith up, but he would never listen—until it occurred to him one day, not that he was doing his daughter a wrong, but that the estate might suffer. But that, as it turned out, was not very long before his unexpected death.
“Will it not make everything easier for you that you know now it was your father’s wish?” he asked gently.
Judith shook her head.
“No. You see, I thought—I really did think—I had come to mean, as much to him as a son could have done! Now—I know I was just deceiving myself.”
Mr. Bellairs was silent. He knew, as Miss Ravensdale did, that not only could Judith never really have taken the place with Mark of the son he had wanted so badly, but also that she had been' robbed of the opportunity of being what a daughter should be to a father.
“Poor child,” he said gently, but Judith pulled her hand from his friendly grasp.
“No!” she gasped. “Don’t pity me—I—I can’t bear ”
She fled our of the room and Mr. Bellairs made no attempt to follow her. Instead he went to the telephone and called up Miss Ravensdale.
“Oh Hugh, I’ve made such a terrible mess of it!” Miss Ravensdale said despondently. “And I’d have given all I had ”
“You don’t need to tell me that!” he interrupted her sadly. “Haven’t I good cause to know it?”
Judith woke the next morning with the feeling that an intolerable burden was weighing her-down. She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed out of the wide open window with none of the joy that a new-born morning usually brought Her. Instead, she pondered over the problems that the day would bring.
Late into the night she had turned over what she had heard from Mr. Bellairs, and she had made up her mind. No matter what it cost her, she would follow out her father’s wishes—but Charles should go. Not that she would ask her aunt to send him away. Pride forbade that. But she had no such faith in him as Miss Ravensdale had, and even in such a short time as a month there would surely be time to prove that he had made mistakes too bad for him to be left in charge of Windygates.
Slowly she got out of bed and slipped into the boyish dressing-gown that lay at the foot of the bed. Then she went out to the bathroom and took the cold bath that she had been trained to have as long as she could remember. She shivered a little, and out of the past came a voice that said, as it had said so many times of so many things:' “A boy would not do that!”
Stony-faced, she went downstairs. Miss Ravensdale was already seated at the table, and she looked up as the girl came in.
“Good morning, Judith!” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning,” Judith responded curtly as she slipped into her seat. As usual, she was wearing riding breeches and thick stockings, with a severe, man-tailored shirt. It was, as a matter of fact, the only outfit she ever wore except on Sundays when she went to church, and in the evenings. Even then," though she was properly dressed, her clothes were of the simplest. One could not imagine Judith in
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