I believe I'll run and telephone him now. He's so
likely to have engagements." Camellia hastened away.
* * * * *
We could hardly tell the Judge we fully agreed with his feeling about
to-morrow's proposed festivities, neither could we discuss his wife's
tastes with him. He and we talked of other things until Camellia came
back, having made her engagement with Mr. Harry Hodgson, and so having
sealed our fate for the succeeding evening.
The Skeptic and the Philosopher spent much of the following day--it was
a legal holiday--with the Judge in his private den up on the third
floor. This, as Camellia showed us once when the men were away, was a
big, bare room--this was her characterization--principally fireplace,
easy-chairs, books and windows. I liked it better than any other place
in the house, for it was unencumbered with useless furniture of any
sort, and the view from its windows was much finer than that from
below stairs.
"But we're not invited up here, you observe," was Camellia's comment.
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