“My daughter will be here to-morrow, Eudoxia.”

A look expressive of both displeasure and astonishment marred the classic features of the hireling.  Putting her broom aside and placing her arms akimbo she exclaimed in an injured tone: 

“And it’s a dayther you’ve got now?  So it’s three in family you are!  When I took the place it’s two you tould me there was!”

“Well, with your kind permission,” replied Mrs. Rossmore, “there will be three in future.  There is nothing in the Constitution of the United States that says we can’t have a daughter without consulting our help, is there?”

The sarcasm of this reply did not escape even the dull-edged wits of the Irish drudge.  She relapsed into a dignified silence and a few minutes later was discovered working with some show of enthusiasm.

The judge was nervous and fidgety.  He made a pretence to read, but it was plain to see that his mind was not on his book.  He kept leaving his chair to go and look at the clock; then he would lay the volume aside and wander from room to room like a lost soul.  His thoughts were on the dock at Hoboken.

By noon every little detail had been attended to and there was nothing further to do but sit and wait for the arrival of Stott and Shirley.  They were to be expected any moment now.  The passengers had probably got off the steamer by eleven o’clock.  It would take at least two hours to get through the Customs and out to Massapequa.  The judge and his wife sat on the porch counting the minutes and straining their ears to catch the first sound of the train from New York.

“I hope Stott broke the news to her gently,” said the judge.

“I wish we had gone to meet her ourselves,” sighed his wife.

The judge was silent and for a moment or two he puffed vigorously at his pipe, as was his habit when disturbed mentally.  Then he said: 

“I ought to have gone, Martha, but I was afraid.  I’m afraid to look my own daughter in the face and tell her that I am a disgraced man, that I am to be tried by the Senate for corruption, perhaps impeached and turned off the bench as if I were a criminal.  Shirley won’t believe it, sometimes I can’t believe it myself.  I often wake up in the night and think of it as part of a dream, but when the morning comes it’s still true—­it’s still true!”

He smoked on in silence.  Then happening to look up he noticed that his wife was weeping.  He laid his hand gently on hers.

“Don’t cry, dear, don’t make it harder for me to bear.  Shirley must see no trace of tears.”

“I was thinking of the injustice of it all,” replied Mrs. Rossmore, wiping her eyes.

“Fancy Shirley in this place, living from hand to mouth,” went on the judge.

“That’s the least,” answered his wife.  “She’s a fine, handsome girl, well educated and all the rest of it.  She ought to make a good marriage.”  No matter what state of mind Mrs. Rossmore might be in, she never lost sight of the practical side of things.