And then she paused. She did not know whether he spelt his name "Marly," or "Marley," or "Marlay." She tried writing it each way, dozens of times, but the oftener she tested it the less able she was to decide. It was too ridiculous; she became exasperated with herself; then humiliated and ashamed. When she heard her father's step in the hall, she hastily locked her letter in her little traveling bag. The judge greeted her warmly; he was flushed and happy, and in the highest spirits. During the afternoon he had been meeting lawyers from all over Ohio; the evening boats from Cleveland and Toledo had brought more of them to the island; they were all eminent, respectable, rich, the attorneys of big corporations. The judges of the Supreme Court and of the Circuit Courts were there, and the excitement had reached its height when the boat from Cleveland brought an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court to deliver the chief address of the meeting. Judge Blair reveled in meeting all these distinguished men; he enjoyed the flattery in their way of addressing and introducing him. But his conscience smote him when he saw Lavinia. He drew up a chair and sat beside her, holding his cigar at arm's length. It was an excellent cigar, better than he ordinarily smoked, and the thin thread of smoke that wavered up from it filled the room almost instantly with its delicate perfume. "Did my little girl think her father had deserted her?" he said, speaking of her in the third person, after the affectionate way of parents. "He must pay better attention to her. She must come down and meet the lawyers; they will be delighted; a justice of the Supreme Court has just come on from Washington! She will want to meet him!" The judge paused and twisted his head about for a puff at his cigar, and then waited for Lavinia to glow at the prospect. But when she looked at him, and tried to smile again, he saw the glint of tears in her eyes. "Why come, come, dear!" he said. "What's the matter? Aren't you having a good time? Never mind, when this meeting's over we'll go to Detroit, and maybe up the lakes for a little trip. That'll bring the roses back!" He pinched her cheeks playfully, but she did not respond; she looked at him pleadingly. "Why, Lavinia," he cried, "you aren't homesick?" She winked bravely to stem the flood of tears and then nodded. "Well!" he said, nonplussed. "You know, dear, we can't--" The tears were brimming in her blue eyes, and he left his sentence uncompleted to go on: "So you're homesick, eh? For mama, and Connie?" She nodded, and he studied her closely for a moment, and then he could not resist the question that all along had been torturing him. "And for--?" She confirmed his fear, with quick decisive little nods. She got out her handkerchief and hastily brushed her tears away, and then with an effort to control herself, she looked at him and said, as if she were ready to have it all out then: