"You've happened! By jove, you've grown to be a beautiful woman!"
"Huh! Doug says I'm a homely, pug-nosed outlaw."
"Doug's a fool kid. It takes a man like me that knows women to appreciate you, Jude."
"Doug'll hear you," warned the girl.
"He's been dead for an hour. Give me a kiss, Judith."
"I don't think I will, I'm too sleepy and tired. Guess I'll go to bed!" She rose, dropping "Bleak House" as she did so.
Mrs. Spencer woke with a start. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing! I just dropped a book." Judith retired to her own corner and shortly she too was asleep.
But Douglas, new thoughts surging through his brain, lay awake long after his father had turned out the light and crawled in beside Mary. Of a sudden, he had seen Judith through his father's eyes and he found himself very unwilling to permit John to see her so. Her loneliness had assumed an entirely new aspect to him. It was the loneliness of girlhood, of girlhood without father, mother, or brother. That was what it amounted to, he told himself. He never had been a real brother to Judith, never had looked out for her as if she had been his sister. And Jude's mother! Just tired and sweet and broken, about as well fitted to cope with her fiery daughter as with the unbroken Morgan colt which was John's pride. As for his father—! Douglas turned over with a deep breath. Let his father take heed! Judith! Judith with her glowing wistful eyes, her crimson cheeks, her dauntless courage, her vivid mind! Judith, with her loneliness, was his to guard from now
