an unruly female offender had been brought to him, not a complaining
witness.

Even after this initial misunderstanding was explained the interview did
not go well. The judge was a man of sixty, clean shaven and of a waxy
hue. From his high, narrow brow all his lines flowed outward. His chin
was heavy and deeply creased, and he had a way at times of drawing it in
to meet his heavy, hunched shoulders. A natural interest in the
continuity of his own thought, joined to fifteen years of pronouncements
from the bench, rendered him impervious to interruption. He now insisted
on reviewing the case of Evans, while Lydia sat tossing back first one
side and then the other of her heavy coat and thinking--almost saying,
"Oh, the tiresome old man! Why does he tell me all this? Doesn't he know
that it was my jewels that were stolen?" She began to tap her foot, a
sound which to those who knew Lydia well was regarded almost as the
rattle of the rattlesnake. The judge began to draw his monologue to a
close.

"The district attorney tells me that you feel that there was some
carelessness on your own part which might be considered in a measure as
constituting an extenuating circumstance----"

He got no further.

"The district attorney says so?" said Lydia, and if he had quoted the
authority of the janitor's boy her tone could not have expressed more
contemptuous surprise.

His Honor, however, missed it.

"Yes," he went on, "Mr. O'Bannon tells me that the charge of your safe,
without supervision----"

"Mr. O'Bannon is completely misinformed," said Lydia, shutting her eyes
and raising her eyebrows.

The judge turned his head squarely to look at her.

"You mean," he said, "that you do not feel that there was any
contributory carelessness which might in part explain, without in any
true sense excusing----"

"Certainly not," said Lydia. "And I have never said anything to anyone
that would make them think so."

"I have been misinformed as to your attitude," said the judge.

"Evidently," said Lydia, and almost at once brought the interview to a
close by leaving the room.

As she walked down the path to her car a figure came out of the shadow
as if it had been waiting for her. It was the same traffic policeman who
had stopped her on her way to Eleanor's. He took off his brown cap. She
saw his round, pugnacious head and the uncertain curve of his mouth. He
was a nice-looking man, and younger than she had supposed--quite boyish
in