development, money in the small but thriving bank, and a new
spirit everywhere, beyond the control of old leaders, too progressive
for a provincial magnate's direction, had been in the interesting and
dangerous condition of a woman ready for her next love affair; if the
right man comes, she may live happy ever after, but even if the wrong
man comes, a flirtation is due. Like a woman again, the town showed the
strength of his hold on her in his absence; in winter, when the big,
unfriendly house was shuttered and closed, the ladies of the inner
circle wore out their summer evening gowns at mild winter gayeties,
church socials, Village Improvement Society bridge parties, and the
old-fashioned supper parties which the Nashes and Larribees and Saxons
still ventured to give.

Humble festivities which he would not have honoured with his presence
lacked allurement because he was not in town and staying away from them.
Great matters and small hung fire to await his deciding vote, from the
list of books to be bought for the library to the chairmanship of the
school board. Marking time and waiting for the Colonel to come home;
that was what winter meant to most of Green River, but not to Judith
Randall. Winter was a charmed time to her; the time when her mother did
not care what she did. Freedom was always sweet, but this winter it was
sweeter than ever before to Judith.

She was never lonely now. Whispering groups in the dingy corridor of the
old schoolhouse, or in that sacred spot, the senior's corner, a cluster
of seats in the northwest corner of the assembly-room devoted by
tradition to secret conclaves, though not distinguishable from the rest
of the seats in the room to uninitiated eyes, drew her in without
question, slipping intimate arms round her waist.

Attempts at informal gatherings in the Randall drawing-room were
failures, chilled by brief but devastating invasions of Mrs. Randall
with a too polite manner and disapproving eyes. But wherever the crowd
drifted after school hours, Judith drifted, too, or was summoned by
telephone, by imperative messages, vague, and of infinite
possibilities:

"Judy, this is Ed. There'll be something doing to-night at our house.
Bring your new dance records." Or, as the outer fringe of the younger
set, jealously on the watch for snobbishness, but disarmed at last,
claimed her diffidently but eagerly, new names at which her mother
raised her eyebrows appeared on her dance orders: Joe