No, certainly Judith would not
have liked this. If she'd ever stood for anything, it was for keeping the
family together. It had been the heart and center of their last talks
before she died.
His face relaxed as he walked on, but in his eyes was a deeper pain. If
only Judith could be here. Before he reached home he had made up his mind
to talk with Laura that very night. He drew out his latchkey, opened his
door, shut it firmly and strode into his house. In the hall they were
putting down the new carpet. Cautiously picking his way upstairs, he
inquired for Laura and was told she was dressing for dinner. He knocked at
her door.
"Yes?" came her voice.
"It's I," he said, "your father."
"Oh, hello, dad," came the answer gaily, in that high sweet voice of hers.
"I'm frightfully rushed. It's a dinner dance to-night for the bridesmaids
and the ushers." Roger felt a glow of relief. "Come in a moment, won't
you?"
What a resplendent young creature she was, seated at her dresser. Behind
her the maid with needle and thread was swiftly mending a little tear in
the fluffy blue tulle she was wearing. The shaded light just over her head
brought a shimmer of red in her sleek brown hair. What lips she had, what a
bosom. She drew a deep breath and smiled at him.
"What are you doing to-morrow night?" her father asked her.
"Oh, dad, my love, we have every evening filled and crammed right up to the
wedding," she replied.
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