And though he
drew his eyebrows down into a frown as he looked at her, it seemed to be
rather in the effort to make out who she was, than from any feeling of
hostility. He asked her with a dry and rather affected judicial
courtesy, what he could do for her.
"You can do me a service," said Rose, "that I don't think you will mind.
Will you let me come in for about a minute and tell you what it is?"
His manner chilled a little, but his curt nod gave her permission to
precede him into his office.
The outer room was bleak enough, furnished with three or four hard
chairs, a table and an old black walnut desk with a typewriter on it.
His secretary or stenographer was evidently still at dinner, because the
room was empty.
The judge walked straight into an inner room and Rose followed him.
It was a big, rather fine-looking room, or so it looked to Rose after
the places she had been seeing lately; evidently, from a beam across the
middle of the ceiling, cut out of two. There was a fireplace with a fire
in it, a big oak table and a number of easy chairs.
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